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T. B.PETERSOM &-BR0THER5.PHi\.A0ELPHIA,Pft. 




The Jolly Parisiennes; , 

AND OTHER NOVELETTES. 


BT EMILE ZOLA. 

AXJTHOR OF “ NANA," " L'aSSOMMOIR," " LA TEKRR," ** CLAUDE’s CONFESSION,** 
POT-BOUILLE," “ THERESE RAQUIN," " HER TWO HUSBANDS," " ALBINE,** 

“ NANA’S BROTHER," " THE GIRL IN SCARLET," " MAGDELAN FERAT,** 
"COURT OF LOUIS NAPOLEON," " RENEE ; OR, IN THE WHIRLPOOL," 
"CHRISTINE, THE MODEL; OR, STUDIOS IN PARIS," "HELENE," 

"the SHOP-GIRLS OF PARIS," "THE JOYS OF LIFE," 

" A MAD LOVE ; OR, THE ABBE AND HIS COURT,** 

**THE FLOWER AND MARKET GIRLS OF PARIS," 

" THE FLOWER GIRLS OF MARSEILLES," ETC. 


TRANSLATED BY 



GEORGE D. 

I 


"The Jolly Parisiennes,** by Emile Zola, is a very clever, brilliant and interesting 
romance of a " grande passion,*’ with an undercurrent of political intrigue. The plot is 
ingenious both in conception and execution, while the tone of the novel is exceedingly 
bright and vivacious. A peculiar phase of Parisian society is most agreeably dealt with. 
The heroines, Louise Neigeon and Berthe Gaucheraud, are very jolly ladies, indeed, but 
they never forget that they are ladies, even in their merriest and most eccentric moods. 
They are handsome, graceful and captivating, tempeVing their seeming recklessness with 
the refinement of education and luxury. No wonder the young provincial hero, George de 
Vaugelade, was bewildered in their society and utterly lost his head. The other charac- 
ters are a Countess with well-attended receptions ; Felix Budin, a rather blase young Par- 
isian : Gaucheraud, a fat politician ; and Monsieur Neigeon, a shadowy Deputy. " 1'hk 
Jolly Parisiennes" is a novel that everji^ody will read and relish. Several other 
novelettes by Zola are also in the volume. They are in the genuine Zola style, strong 
and interesting every one of them. 



PHILADELPHIA: 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; 

306 CHESTNUT STREET. 


COPYRIGHT: — 1888. 
a?. B- BBT.-ES;S02iT & 





MST OF Ex^IIiF ZOLA^S GREAT REALISTIC WORKS. 

Petersons* Original Translations from the French. 

Xa Terre. (The Soil.) By Emile Zola, author of “Nana,” “ L’Assommoir,** 
“Christine, the Model,” etc. His Last and Greatest Work and Most Eeaiistic Nuv«l. 


29 ana. The Seqoel to “ L’ Assam moir.” By Emile Zola, author o# 
“ Pot-Bouille,” “ L’Assommoir,” etc. With a portrait of “ Nana ” on the coTer. 


X’Assonimoir. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana,” “Pot-Bouille,” “Alhine,” 
“ Helene,” etc. With a portrait of “ Gei vaise,” the mother of “ Nana,” on the cover. 


The Shop Girls, or Sales-Ladies, of Paris; with their Life and 
Experiences in a Large Dry Goods Store. By Emile Zola, author of “ Nana.” 


Christine, the Model; or. Studies Of Love. Describing Artist Life 
with the Beautiful Models in Studios in Paris. By EmiU Zola, author of “ Nana.’* 


2Iana*s Brother. Stephen Lantior, the Son of “Gervaise” and “Lantier” of 
“L’Assommoir.” By Emile Zda, author of “Nana,” ” L’Assommoir,'’ etc. 


The Flower Girls of Marseilles. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana.’* 


The Mysteries of the Court of Louis Napoleon. By Emile Zdcu 


The Flower and Market Girls of Paris. By Emile Zola, 


The Joys of Life. By Emile Zola, author of “ Nana,” “ L’Assommoir,” etc. 


Pot-Bouille. By Emile Zola, author of “ Nana.” With an Illustrated Cover. 


The Girl in Scarlet; or. Loves of Silvere and Miette. By Zolan, 


Tier Two Husbands. By Emile Zola, author ©f “ Nana ” and “ L’Assommoir.’* 


Renee; or. In the Whirlpool. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana,” etc. 


Claude’s Confession. By Emile Zola, author of “ Nana,” “ L’Assommoir,” et» 


Albine; or. The Abbe’s Temptation. .Sy Zo?a, author of “Nana** 


A Mad Love; or. The Abbe and His Court. By Emile Zola, 


Helene. A Tale of Love and Passion. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana.” 
Mai^dalen Feral. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana” and “L’Assommoir.** 
Tlierese Raqnin. By Emile Zola, author of “ Nana ” and “ L’Assommoir.” 
Nana’s Bau^^hter. Sequel to “ Zola’s Naua,” With Portraits on the Cover. 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 

THE JOLLY PARISIENNES. 

1. TWO CHARMERS 21 

II. SALON AND THEATRE 31 

III. THE MAISONS-LAFFITTE RACES; 40 

IV. IN THE VOLUBILIS BOWER 50 

V. THE REWARD 58 

MADEMOISELLE FLA VIE. 

I. A STARTLING PROPOSITION G5 

II. MADEMOISELLE FLAYIE 76 

III. A SPOILED TRIUMPH 84 

IV. TREACHERY. 96 

V. WON AT LAST 106 

NAI3, THE BRUNETTE. 

I. FRfeDfeRIC 110 

II. fr^dIiric and NAIS '. 118 

III. DISCOVERED 126 

IV. MURDEROUS ATTEMPTS 135 

V. THE LANDSLIP 144 

MADAME CITABRE. 

I. HECTOR r . 152 

II. THE SAVIMMERS 160 

III. ESTELLE’S ENJOYMENTS 169 

IV. SHRIMPING 178 

V. THE CASTELLI ROCKS 188 

' ' . ( 19 ) 


20 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 

MARGOT’S GALLANT. 

I. THE mahLs and the floches 198 

II. THE STRANGE CATCH 206 

HI. TASTING THE DRINK 216 

IV. MORE JOLLIFICATION 225 

V. GENERAL HAPPINESS 233 

MARGUERITE. 

I. ALIVE IN DEATH 239 

II. THE LAST HOPE 246 

III. THE FUNERAL 255 

IV. BURIED ALIVE 263 

V. BACK FROM THE GRAVE 271 

THE soldier’s DREAMS 278 

THE FAST 299 

THE marquise’s SHOULDERS 301 

MY NEIGHBOR JACQUES 306 

BIG MICHU 312 

A STRANGE PHILOSOPHER 320 

. OUT OP WORK 325 


THE JOLLY PARISIEBIIES. 

BY i^IVBLE ZOL^. 

AUTHOR OF “ NANA,” “ L’ASSOMMOIR,” ” LA TERRE,” “ CLAUDE’S CONFESSION,’* 
“ POT-BOUILLE,” “ THERE3E RAQUIN,” “ HER TWO HUSBANDS,” ‘‘ ALBI^B,” 
“NANA’S BROTHER,” “THE GIRL IN SCARLET,” “MAGDALEN FERAT^” 
“COURT OF LOUIS NAPOLEON,” “ RENEE ; OR, IN THE WHIRLPOOL,” \ 

“ CHRISTINE, THE MODEL ; OR, STUDIOS IN PARIS ;” “ HELENE,” \ 
“THE SHOP-GIRLS OP PARIS,” “THE JOYS OF LIFE,” 

“A MAD LOVE; OR, THE ABBE AND HIS COURT,” 

“THE FLOWER AND MARKET GIRLS OF PARIS,” 

“THE FLOWER GIRLS OF MARSEILLES,” ETC. 


CHAPTER I. 

TWO CHARMERS. 

T his is a deliciously exciting period of my life, for I 
am about to try tbat most fascinating and hazard- 
ous of all experiences, a search for adventure in Paris. 
What I shall encounter I know not, and this very uncer- 
tainty is in itself a mighty charm I 

Of course, I shall meet Parisian ladies — delightful 
ladies I am sure, though I actually feel afraid of them, 
such dreadful tales have I heard concerning their 
coquetry and artfulness, not to say wickedness, and I 
am only a country youth, with neither the wit nor the 

( 21 ) 


22 


TWO CHARMERS. 


courage to defend myself against beautiful sorceresses 
so powerfully armed! 

Well, I wish to see all that can be seen and enjoy all 
that can be enjoyed, and if I by chance should fall a 
victim to the wiles and witchery of any designing siren 
— why, all I can say is — Heaven help me! 

Eight days ago my father, M. de Vaugelade, permit- 
ted me to quit Le Boquet, the melancholy old chateau 
in Lower Normandy where I was born. My father 
has strange ideas concerning the present time, he is a 
good half century behind the age. At last I live in 
Paris, my slight knowledge of which was derived from 
having passed through it twice. Fortunately, I am not 
too awkward. Felix Budin, my old classmate at the 
Caen Lyceum, claimed, on again seeing me here, that I 
was superb* and that the fair Parisiennes will fall pas- 
sionately in love with me. That made me laugh. But, 
when Felix had gone, I surprised myself in front of a 
mirror, gazing at my five feet, six inches and smiling 
with my white teeth and black eyes. Then, I shrugged 
my shoulders, for I am not a coxcomb. 

Yesterday, for the first time, I passed the evening in a 
Parisian salon. The Countess de P — — , who is my 
aunt, had invited me to dinner. It was her last Satur- 
day. She wished to present me to M. Neigeon, a deputy 
of our arrondissement of Gommerville, who has just 
been appointed Under-Secretary of State, and who is, 
the rumor runs, in a fair way to become Minister. My 
aunt, who is much more tolerant than my father, 
plumply declared to me that a young man of my age 
could not turn up his nose at his country, even if it 


TWO CHAEMEKS. 


23 


was a republic. She desires to get me a position 
somewhere. 

“I will take it on myself to catechise that old pig- 
headed Vaiigelade,” said she to me. “ Leave everything 
to me, my dear George.’* 

At precisely seven o’clock, I was at the Countess’. 
But it seems that they dine late in Paris; the guests 
arrived one by one, and at half-past seven all were 
not there. The Countess informed me with an air of 
despair that she had been unable to secure M. Neigeon ; 
he was detained at Versailles by I know not what Par- 
liamentary complication. Nevertheless, she still hoped 
that he would appear for a moment during the evening. 
Wishing to fill the gap, she had invited another deputy 
of our department, the enormous Gaucheraud, as we 
style him down there, and whom I knew from having 
once hunted with him. This Gaucheraud is a shorty 
jovial man, who has recently let his side- whiskers grow 
in order to have a grave air. lie was born in Paris 
and was the son of a pettifogging lawyer without for- 
tune ; but he has, down with us, a wealthy and very 
influential uncle, whom he persuaded, I know not how, 
to give him a candidacy. I was, besides, ignorant of the 
fact that he was married. My aunt placed me, at table, 
beside a blonde young lady, with a cunning and pretty 
air, whom the enormous Gaucheraud, in a very loud 
tone, called Berthe. 

All the guests at last appeared. It was still daylight 
in the salon, which was exposed to the setting sun, and 
suddenly we entered an apartment with curtains drawn, 
lighted by a chandelier and lamps. The effect was sin- 


24 


TWO CHARMERS. 


gular. Hence, as we took our places, the guests chatted 
about these final dinners of the winter season, which are 
saddened by the twilight. My aunt detested this. And 
the conversation was prolonged upon the subject, upon 
the melancholy of Paris, traversed at the close of day, 
when one rides along in a carriage in response to an 
invitation. I was silent, but I had experienced nothing 
of that sensation in my fiacre, which had, however, 
roughly jolted me for half an hour. Paris, in the first 
glimmer of the gas, had filled me with a desire for 
all the er‘joyments with which it was about to flame. 

When the entrees appeared, the voices were raised 
and they talked politics. I was surprised to hear my 
aunt formulate opinions. The other ladies also were 
posted ; they called the well-known men by their last 
names, judged and decided. Opposite me, Gaucheraud 
filled a tremendous space, talking loudly, without ceasing 
either to drink or eat. These matters did not interest 
me at all, a great deal had escaped me, and I had fin- 
ished by occupying myself exclusively with my neigh- 
bor, Madame Gaucheraud — Berthe, as I already called 
her, for short. She was, indeed, very pretty. Her ear, 
especially, seemed charming to me — a little round ear, 
behind which yellow locks were curling. Berthe had 
the bewildering nape of the neck of a blonde, covered 
with straggling hair. At certain movements of the 
shoulders, her corsage, cut down in a square, gaped 
slightly at the back, and I followed, from her neck to 
her waist, the supple undulation of a cat. I had less 
admiration for her profile, which was a trifle sharp. She 
talked politics with more eagerness than the rest. 


TWO CHARMERS. 


25 


“ Madame, will you take some wine ? Shall I pass 
you the salt, madame? ’’ 

I was politeness itself, I anticipated her slightest 
wishes, interpreting her gestures and her glances. She 
had stared at me fixedly on taking her place at the 
table, as if to weigh me at a swoop. 

“Politics bore you,” she said to me at last. “They 
stun me. But what can one do? — one must talk, and 
they talk only politics now in society.” 

Then, she leaped to another subject. 

“Is Gommerville a pretty place? My husbaand want- 
ed, last summer, to take me to his uncle’s ; but I was 
afraid, I pretended that I was ill.” 

“ The district is very fertile,” I responded. “ It has 
some fine plains.” 

“ Good ! that settles it I ” resumed she, laughing. “ It’s 
frightful ! A district as flat as a pancake — fields and 
more fields, with the same row of poplars as far as the 
eye can reach 1 

I strove to protest, but she was already off again — she 
was discussing a law relative to superior instruction with 
her neighbor on the right, a serious man with a white 
beard. At length, they talked about the theatre. When 
she bent forward to answer a question asked at the end 
of the table, the feline undulation of the nape of her 
neck put me all in a flutter. At LeBoquet,in the secret 
impatience of my solitude, I had dreamed of a blonde 
charmer; but she was diffident, with a noble visage, and 
the smiling mien, the little curly locks of Berthe had 
played sad havoc with my ideal. Then, as the vege- 
tables were being served^ I glided into a mad romance, 


26 


TWO CHARMERS. 


the details of wliich I arranged as I went along. We 
were alone — she and I ; I kissed her on the neck frona 
behind, and she turned with a smile; we fled together to 
a far distant land. Tliej were passing around the dessert. 
At that moment she pressed against me and said, in a 
low voice : 

‘‘Give me that plate of bonbons, there, in front of 
you.” 

It seemed to me that her eyes had a caressing soft- 
ness, and the slight pressure of her bare arm on the 
sleeve of my coat warmed me deliciously. 

“ I adore sweet things, do you ? ” she resumed, biting 
off a piece of candied fruit. 

These simple words thrilled me to such an extent that 
I believed myself in love with her. As I raised my head, 
I saw Gaucheraud watching me whisper to his wife: he 
was as gay as usual and smiled with an encouraging air. 
The husband’s smile calmed me. 

Meanwhile the dinner was drawing to a close. It did 
not seem to me that Paris dinners were any livelier than 
those of Caen. Berthe alone surprised me. My aunt com- 
plained of the heat, and they returned to the first topic 
of conversation, discussing the spring receptions and 
concluding that one ate really Avell only in winter. Then, 
the company went to take their coffee in the little 
salon. 

Gradually, a great many people arrived. The three 
salons and the dining-room filled up. I took refuge in a 
corner, and, as my aunt passed, she said to me, rapidly : 

“Don’t go, George. His wife has arrived. He has 
promised to come for her, and I will present you.” 


TWO CHARMERS. 


27 


She spoke of M. Neigeon, but I did not listen to her 
very attentively; I had heard two young men exchange 
a few rapid words which had startled me. They were 
standing on tiptoe at a door of the main salon, and when 
Felix Budin, my old classmate of Caen, entered and 
bowed to Madame Gaucheraud, the smallest one said to 
the other : 

“Is he still her fancy?’ 

“Yes,” answered the taller of the twain. “Oh I 
they’re very thick ! Now, it will last till winter. 
Never before has she kept a fellow so long!” 

This did not cause me great suffering. I simply felt 
a wound of vanity. Why had she told me in such a 
tender tone that she adored sweet things? Certainly, 
I did not mean to dispute her with Felix. Ilowever, I 
finally persuaded myself that those young men had 
calumniated Madame Gaucheraud. I knew that my 
aunt was excessively rigid; she would never tolerate 
compromised ladies in lier house. Gaucheraud had 
rushed forward to meet Felix and grasp his hand ; and 
he was giving him friendly taps on the shoulder and 
gazing tenderly at him. 

“Ah! here you are!” said Felix to me when he had 
discovered my place of refuge. “I came on your ac- 
count. Do you want me to pilot you?” 

We remained standing in the doorway. I would have 
liked to question him about Madame Gaucheraud, but 
did not know how to do so in an off-hand way. While 
searching for a transition point, I asked him concerning 
a host of other persons for whom I cared absolutely 
nothing. And he gave me the names of the peoi)le, 


28 


TWO CHABMERS. 


with precise information in regard to each one. Born in 
Paris, he had spent only two years at the Caen Lyceum, 
while his father was Prefect of Calvados. I found 
him very free-spoken. A smile puckered bis lower lip 
when I asked him for details as to certain ladies present. 

“ Are you looking at Madame Neigeon? ” he suddenly 
demanded of me. 

The truth was that I was looking at Madame Gauch- 
eraud. Hence I replied, blankly enough : 

“ Madame Neigeon I Ah ! where is she ? ” 

“ That brunette down there by the mantelpiece, who 
is chatting with a ddcolletee blonde.” 

In fact, beside Madame Gaucheraud, and laughing 
gayly, was a lady whom I had not before noticed. 

“Ah! so that’s Madame Neigeon, so that’s Madame 
Neigeon I ” said I. 

And I examined her. It was exceedingly unfortunate 
that she was a brunette, for she appeared to me equally 
as charming, though not quite so tall as Berthe, with a 
magnificent crown of black hair. She had eyes at once 
flashing and tender. Her small nose, shapely mouth and 
dimpled cheeks indicated a nature both turbulent and 
thoughtful. Such was my first impression. But, as I 
looked at her, my judgment wavered, and I soon saw her 
gayer than her friend and laughing more loudly. 

“ Are you acquainted with Neigeon? ” F^lix demanded 
of me. 

“ Not in the least. My aunt is going to introduce me 
to him.” 

“ Oh ! he’s nobody, a perfect ninny,” continued Felix. 
^ He’s political mediocrity in full bloom, one of those 


TWO CHARMERS. 


29 


stop-gaps so useful under the Parliamentary regime. 
As be hasn’t two ideas of his own and as all the cabinet 
heads can make use of him, he is in the most conflicting 
combinations.” 

And his wife ? ” I asked. 

‘‘Ilis wife! — well, you can see for yourself! She is 
charming ! If you want to get anything out of Neigeon, 
pay court to her ! ” 

Felix affected to wish to say nothing farther. But he 
gave me to understand that Madame Neigeon had made 
her husband’s fortune and continued to watch over the 
prosperity of the family. All Paris credited her with 
devoted slaves. 

“ And the blonde lady? ” I demanded, suddenly. 

“ The blonde lady,” responded Felix, without wincing, 
“ is Madame Gaucheraud.” 

“ There is nothing to be said against her, eh ?” 

“ Of course, there is nothing to be said against her.” 

He had assumed a grave air, which he was unable to 
maintain ; his smile reappeared ; I even thought that I 
could detect a trace of boastfulness on his visage, which 
angered me. The two ladies had, without doubt, 
observed that we were talking about them, for they 
laughed more heartily than ever. A lady having led 
Felix awaj^, I remained alone ; and I passed the even- 
ing comparing Madame Neigeon with Madame Gauch- 
eraud, wounded and attracted, not fully comprehending 
what was taking place around me, experiencing the 
anxiety of a man who is afraid of committing some 
stupidity by risking himself in a society with which 
he is not yet acquainted. 


80 


TWO CHARMERS. 


“ How vexatious ! — lie has not come ! ” said my aunt 
to me when she again found me in the same corner of 
the doorway. “But it’s always the same. It’s mid- 
night and his wife is still waiting for him.” 

I went around through the dining-room and planted 
myself at the other door of the salon. In this manner 
I found myself behind the two ladies. As I reached the 
door, I heard Berthe call her friend Louise. Louise is 
a pretty name ! She wore a high dress, the ruching of 
which allowed to be seen, beneath her heavy chignon, 
only the white line of her neck. This discreet white- 
ness seemed to me, for an instant, much more enticing 
than Berthe’s entirely bare back. Then, I had no longer 
any preference; both of them were adorable; a choice 
appeared impossible to me in the bewildered condition 
in which I found myself. 

" My aunt, meanwhile, was hunting for me everywhere. 
It was one o’clock. 

“So you have changed your door, eh ?” she said to me. 
“Well, he’s not coming: that Neigeon saves France 
every evening I But, at any rate, I’ll introduce you to 
his wife before she goes. And be amiable, it’s impor- 
tant ! ” 

Without awaiting my response, the Countess planted 
me in front of Madame Neigeon, uttering my name and 
telling her my business in a phrase. I behaved very 
awkwardly and could scarcely find half a dozen words. 
Louise awaited, smiling; then, seeing that I had stopped 
short, she simply bowed. It seemed to me that Madame 
Gaucheraud was making fun of me. They both arose 
and withdrew. In the ante-chamber, where the dressing 


SALON AND THEATRE. 


31 


room was located, tliey had a fit of wild ga 3 ^ety. Their 
free and easy, hoydenish behavior and their bold grace 
astonished no one but me. The men separated and 
bowed to them as they passed, with a mixture of extreme 
politeness and fashionable familiarity which stupefied 
me. 

Felix had offered me a place in his carriage. But I 
made my escape, wishing to be alone ; and I did not take 
a fiacre, delighted to walk amid the silence and solitude 
of the streets. I was feverish, as at the approach of 
some grave malady. Was it a passion which was 
sprouting within me? Like travellers who pay their 
tribute to new climates, I was about to be tried by the 
air of Paris 1 


:o: 

CHAPTEE II. 

SALON AND THEATRE. 

T HIS afternoon I again saw the two ladies at the Art 
Salon, which opened to-day. I confess -that I 
knew I would be likely to meet them there and that I 
would have great difficulty in giving an opinion of the 
three or four thousand pictures, in front of which I 
promenaded for four hours. Yesterday Felix offered to 
call for me towards noon ; we were to breakfast at a 
restaurant of the Champs- filysees and then go to the 
Salon. 

I have thought a great deal since the Countess’ soiree, 


82 


SALON AND THEATRE. 


but I admit that that has not brightened up my ideas 
much. What strange society is this Parisian society, at 
once so polished and corrupt! I am not a rigid moralist; 
still, I was none the less shocked at the idea of the enor- 
mities which I heard men talking to each other about in 
Pie corners of my aunt’s salon. According to the scan- 
dalous chatter, exchanged in whispers, more than half 
the ladies there were no better than they should be; and 
there was, beneath the urbanity of conversation and 
manners, a brutality of valuation which degraded all of 
them, the mothers as well as the daughters, soiling the 
purest quite as much as the most compromised. How 
was one to discover the truth amid these risky tales, 
these affirmations of the first who came along, deciding 
the virtue or the shamelessness of a woman? I thought 
at first, in spite of what my father had said on the sub- 
ject, that my aunt received very villainous company. 
But Fdlix claimed that it was the same way in almost 
all the Parisian salons. The most severe hostesses them- 
selves were forced to show toleration under penalty of 
having their salons deserted. The effects of my first 
shock having passed away, I found myself only desirous 
of profiting by the easily obtained pleasures, by the en- 
joyments offered with such bewildering grace. 

For four days I have been unable to awake in the 
morning, in my little apartment on the Eue Laffitte, 
without thinking of Louise and Berthe, as I familiarly 
called them. A singular phenomenon had been pro- 
duced within me — I had finished by mixing them to- 
gether. I was now certain that F^lix was really Berthe’s 
slave ; but that did not wound me — quite the contrary ; 


SALON AND THEATRE. 


33 


I looked upon it as an encouragement, as proof positive 
that I had a chance. I, therefore, associated them to- 
gether: since they had accepted the devotion of others, 
why should they not accept mine? This was the con- 
stant subject of a delicious reverie at my hour of rising. 
I lingered in bed, enjoying the warmth of the covers and 
turning over twenty times with a delightful laziness of 
the limbs. And I avoided getting down to anything 
precise, for it was agreeable to me to remain in doubt as 
to the denouement, which I incessantly arranged to suit 
myself. I could thus be nice about the circumstances 
destined some day to bring about the offer of my hom- 
age to Berthe or Louise, I did not even wish to know 
which. Finally, I arose, with the absolute conviction 
that I had but to choose in order to make one or the 
other the idol of my life. 

When we entered the first hall of the Exposition of 
Painting, I was surprised at the enormous crowd which 
was stifling there. • 

“ Liable ! ” muttered Felix, “ we are a little late. 
We’ll have to elbow our way.’’ 

It was a very mixed throng, made up of artists, trades- 
people and people of society. Amid ill-brushed pale- 
tots and dark coats were light-hued toilets, those spring 
toilets so gay in Paris, with their delicate silks and 
bright trimmings. And I was particularly delighted 
with the calm assurance of the ladies, pushing through 
the thickest of the groups, without bothering themselves 
about their trains, the floods of lace of which always 
ultimately got through, too. They went thus from one 
picture to another at the pace at which they would have 
2 


84 


SALON AND THEATRE. 


traversed their own salons. None but the Parisianladies 
preserve the serenity of a goddess amid popular throngs, 
as if the words they hear and the contacts they undergo 
cannot reach and soil them. For an instant I glanced 
after a lady, who, Felix told me, was the Duchess of 

A ; she was accompanied by her two daughters, 

aged from sixteen to eighteen years; and all three looked 
without wincing at a Leda, while, behind them, a lot of 
young artists merrily chatted about the picture in very 
free terms. 

Felix made his vray into the halls on the left, a range 
of huge square rooms, wdiere the crowd was less com- 
pact. A white light fell from the skylights of the ceil- 
ings, a hard light which canvas curtains sifted ; but the 
dust raised by the tramping of the people floated like a 
light smoke above the SAvell of heads. The ladies had 
to be handsome, indeed, to resist this light, this uniform 
tone, which the pictures on the four sides of the walls 
stained violently. -There it was an extraordinary medley 
of colors, of reds, yellows and blues which jarred — a 
whole rainbow riot in the glistening gold of the frames. 
It began to grow veiy warm. Bald gentlemen, with 
polished craniums, walked about, panting, their hats in 
their hands. All the visitors were looking upwards. 
There was a crush in front of certain canvases. Cur- 
rents were produced ; people pushed ; it was a helter- 
skelter rush of a let loose human flock through a palace. 
And one heard incessantly the continuous roll of feet 
upon the floors, which was accompanied by the hollow 
and prolonged noise of the people, murmuring like the 
sea. 


SALON AND THEATRE. 


35 


“ All ! ” said Felix to me, “ there’s the great picture 
that’s so much talked about.” 

Five rows of persons were contemplating the great 
picture. There were ladies with eye-glasses, artists 
making wicked comments in low tones, and a tall, thin 
gentleman taking notes. But I scarcely looked. I had 
just perceived, in a neighboring hall, leaning on the rail- 
ing in front of the wainscot, two ladies who were curi- 
ously examining a small picture. It was at first but a 
flash : beneath the rims of hats I saw thick black tresses 
and a confusion of blonde locks ; then the vision was 
swept away, a flood of people, of swaying heads, swal- 
lowed up the two ladies. But I could have sworn to 
them. A few paces off, between the incessantly moving 
heads, I again found now the blonde locks, then the 
black tresses. I said nothing to Felix ; I contented 
myself with leading him into the neighboring hall, 
manoeuvering so that he appeared to be the first torecogr 
nize the ladies. Had he seen them as well as I? 
I thought so, for he cast at me a sidelong glance of 
cutting irony. 

“Ah I what a fortunate meeting ! ” he exclaimed, as 
he bowed to them. 

The ladies had turned and were smiling. I awaited 
the result of this second interview. It was decisive. 
Madame Neigeon completely upset me with a mere 
glance of her black eyes, while I seemed to have found 
a friend in Madame Gaucheraud. This time it was a 
stroke of lightning. She wore a small yellow hat, 
covered with a spray of glycina, and her dress was of 
mauve silk,^ trimmed with straw-colored satin, a toilet 


36 


SALON AND THEATRE. 


at once very gaudy and very delicate. But I did not 
dissect her until later; for, at first sight, she appeared 
to me like a sun — as if she created light about her. 

Meanwhile, F^lix was chatting. 

“There’s nothing striking here,” said he; “at least, 
I haven’t seen anything yet.” 

“ Mon Dieu!” declared Berthe, “it’s the same as it is 
every year.” ^ 

Then, turning towards the wainscot : 

“ Take a look at this little picture which Louise has 
discovered. The dress is a success. Madame de Eoche- 
taille had one exactly like it at the last Llys^e ball.” 

“Yes,” murmured Louise; “only it had a square 
neck.” 

She again studied the little canvas, which represented 
a lady in a boudoir, standing before a mantlepiece and 
reading a letter. The painting seemed to me very me- 
diocre, but I felt myself fully in sympathy with the 
painter. 

“ Where is he now ? ” suddenly demanded Berthe, 
searching around her. “lie loses us every ten steps.” 

She spoke of her husband. 

“ Gaucheraud is down there,” tranquilly replied F^lix, 
who saw everybod3^ “ He is looking at that big sugar 
Christ nailed to a gingerbread cross.” 

In fact, the husband, with a peaceful and disinterested 
air, was making the tour of the halls on his own account, 
his hands behind his back. When he saw us, he came 
to shake hands with us; and he said, with his gay air: 

“ Have you noticed ? — there is a Christ down there of 
a truly remarkable religious feeling.” 


SALON AND THEATRE. 


87 


The ladies had resumed walking. We followed them 
with Gaucheraud. The husband’s presence authorized 
us to accompany them. M. Neigeon was mentioned : he 
would come without doubt, if he got away soon enough 
from a Commission, in which he was to make known the 
opinion of the Government on a question of special im- 
portance. Gaucheraud took possession of me and over- 
whelmed me with friendly attentions. This bored me, 
for I was compelled to reply. Felix smiled, giving me 
a slight push on the elbow; but I was unable to under- 
stand. And he profited by my occupation of the big 
man to walk on ahead with the ladies. I caught frag- 
ments of the conversation. 

“ Then you are going this evening to the Varidtes? ” 

“Yes, I have secured a baignoire. They say the 
play is comical. I shall take you along, Louise. Oh I 
I wish it I ” 

And further on : 

“ Well, the season’s over. This opening of the Salon 
is the final Parisian solemnity.” 

“ You forget the races.” 

“So I do! I want to attend the Maisons-Lafntte races. 
I’ve been told that they’re very nice.” 

During this time Gaucheraud was talking to me of 
Le Boquet. A superb property, he said, the value of 
which my father had doubled. I realized that he was 
full of flattery. But I did not listen to him much, stirred 
to the depths of my being every time that Louise, on 
stopping suddenly in front of a picture, touched me with 
her long train. Her white neck, under her black hair, 
was as delicate as that of a baby. But she kept up her 


38 


SALON AND THEATRE. 


hoydenish beliavior, wbicli jarred upon me a little. She 
was much bowed to, and she laughed, attracting people’s 
attention by her outbursts of gayety and the swift move- 
ments of lier skirts. Two or three times she turned 
around and gazed at me fixedly. I walked as if in a 
dream ; I cannot say how many hours I followed her in 
this manner, stunned by Gaucheraud’s talk, blinded by 
the leagues of pictures which spread out to the right and 
the left. I only realized that, towards the close, the dust 
of the halls got into my mouth and that I felt horribly 
fatigued, while the ladies remained fresh and smiling. 

At six o’clock F^lix took me off to dine. When we 
were at the dessert, he suddenly said to me : 

‘‘ I’m very much obliged to you ! ” 

“ What for? ” I demanded, greatly surprised. 

“ Why for your delicacy in not paying court to 
Madame Gaucheraud. So you prefer brunettes, eh ? ’’ 

I could not prevent blushing. He hastened to add : 

“ I don’t want any of your confidances. On the con- 
trary, you must have noticed that I refrained from inter- 
fering. In my opinion one ought to go through his 
apprenticeship to life alone.” 

He did not laugh now ; he was serious and friendly. 

“ Then you think it’s possible for her to have some 
regard for me? ” I said, without daring to name Louise. 

“I!” he replied. ‘*1 don’t know a thing about it. 
Do whatever you like and see how matters pan out.” 

I regarded that as an encouragement. Felix had 
resumed his ironical tone; and, gayly, in his joking 
way, he claimed that Gaucheraud would have preferred 
to see me offer my homage to his better half. 


SALON AND THEATRE. 


89 


“ Oh ! you don’t know the worth}?' man ! You didn’t 
understand why he lavished so much attention on you. 
His uncle’s influence is declining in your arrondisse- 
ment, and, if he were obliged to present himself again 
before his electors, he would be delighted to bo able to 
count on your father. Dame ! I’m afraid of the moment 
when you can be useful to him, as you will readily 
understand! As for me, he has now used me up!” 

“How abominable!” I exclaimed. 

“Why abominable?” resumed he, with such a tran- 
quil air that I could not tell whether he was mocking 
me or not. “ When a wife must have gentlemen friends, 
they ought to be useful to the family!” 

On quitting the table Felix spoke of going to the 
Varidtes. I had seen the play two evenings before; but 
I told a white lie — I expressed a strong desire to see the 
piece. And what a charming evening ! Berthe and 
Louise were in a baignoire very near our fauteuils. By 
turning my head I could follow upon Louise’s face the 
pleasure she took in the actors’ drolleries. I had thought 
those drolleries stupid two nights previously. But they 
no longer bored me ; on the contrary, I enjoyed them, 
because they seemed to me to establish a sort of gallant 
complicity between Louise and myself. The piece was 
very gay, and she laughed particularly at the risky 
speeches. The fact that she was in a baignoire sufficed 
to make it an allowable jollification. AVhen our eyes 
met in the midst of a burst of laughter, she did not 
lower her head. I thought that a more refined perver- 
sion could not be found; I said to myself that three 
hours spent thus, in this frolicsome communion, would 


40 


THE MAISONS LAFFITTE RACES. 


greatly advance my affairs. But the wliole audience 
was amused ; many ladies in the balcony did not even 
use their fans. 

During an entr’acte we called upon the ladies. Gau- 
cheraud had just gone out, so there was room for us to 
sit down. The baignoire was dark and Louise was 
beside me. She gave her skirts a shake and they cov- 
ered my knees. I carried away with me the sensation 
of this contact, like a first mute avowal which linked us 
together. 


: 0 : 

CHAPTER III.' 

THE MAISON3-LAFFITTE RACES. 

T eh days elapsed. Felix had disappeared, and I 
could find no pretext for seeking out Madame 
Neigeon. I was reduced, in order to occupy myself 
with her, to buying five or six leading journals, in which 
I read her husband’s name. lie had participated in an 
important debate in the Chamber, and had made a 
speech which was attracting much attention. That 
speech, at another time, would have appeared wearisome 
to me ; now, it interested me, for I saw Louise’s black 
tresses and white neck behind the filmy phrases. I 
even had, with a gentleman whom I scarcely knew, a 
violent discussion on the subject of M. Neigeon, whose 
incapacity I defended. The bitter attacks of the news- 
papers drove me wild. Without doubt, the man is a 


THE MAISONS-LAFFITTB RACES. 


41 


ninny; but that is merely an additional proof of his 
wife’s intelligence, if she is, as they relate, the good fairy 
of his fortune. 

During those ten days of impatience and vain rambles, 
I went five or six times to my aunt’s, always hoping for 
a happy bit of luck, for some unexpected meeting. But, 
on the occasion of niy last visit, I so greatly displeased 
tlie Countess that I dare not return there soon. She had 
taken it into her head to obtain me a diplomatic posi- 
tion through M. Neigeon’s influence; and her stupor 
was great when I refused, alleging my political opinions. 
To make matters worse, I had consented to accept the 
post at first, when I did not wish to offer my homage 
to Louise and it was not yet repugnant to me to be 
indebted to her husband for a benefit. Hence my aunt, 
who could not understand my fit of delicacy, was 
amazed at what she styled a childish caprice. Did not 
Legitimists, as scrupulous as myself, represent the Ee- 
public in foreign countries ? In fact, diplomacy is the 
refuge of the Legitimists; they fill up the embassies and 
render the good cause a useful service by retaining the 
high situations which the Eepublicans covet. I was 
greatly embarrassed to give good reasons in reply; I 
entrenched myself in a ridiculous rigidity, and my aunt 
finally told me I was an ass, being the more furious 
because she had already mentioned the matter to M. 
Neigeon. No matter! Louise would not believe that I 
was paying court to her that I might obtain a Govern- 
ment post. 

I should be laughed at if I related the strange feel- 
ings I experienced during the past ten days. At first, I 


/ 


42 


THE MAIS0N3-LAFFITTE RACES. 


was convinced tliat Louise had noticed the deep emo- 
tion which the contact of her skirts with my knee had 
caused me ; and I concluded that I had not displeased 
her, since she had not immediately drawn away from 
me. I considered this an advance which went be- 
yond permitted coquetry. These are sincere notes, a 
sort of confession in which I conceal nothing. Many 
men, if they told everything, would admit that surround- 
ings change, but that woman remains the same. In the 
matter of admiration, a woman either courts homage or 
permits it. I speak of married women, of fashionable 
ladies having appearances to preserve. The men who 
desire to worship at their feet quickly note if they 
express willingness, beneath the good manners of edu- 
cation and the refinement of luxury. All this is to say 
that, in my youthful egotism, I found a possible friend- 
ship between Louise and myself altogether natural. 
That bit of her skirts upon my knees was simply a 
piece of charming frankness and boldness. 

But, several hours later, I began to doubt, I took to 
contrary arguments. Only a girl could indulge in such 
a proceeding ; I was a fool to believe that a woman 
would throw herself at my head, even in a moment of 
bewilderment. Madame Neigeon did not give me a 
thought. Perhaps she had worshippers, but her friend- 
ships were certainly more calculated and more compli- 
cated. There must be a vast distance between the 
woman of whom I had dreamed, the woman instinct- 
ively seeking adoration, and the adroit woman, the 
tricky Parisienne, such as she was beyond a doubt. 

So she had altogether escaped from me. I saw her 


THE MAISONS-LAFFITTE RACES. 


43 


no more, and I could not tell even if it was, indeed, true 
that I had remained for five minutes in the obscurity of 
a theatre box, feeling the pressure of her form against 
mine. And I was very unhappy, so much so that, for 
an instant, I thought of returning to Le Boquet, there 
to shut myself up. 

Day before yesterday I at last conceived an idea, 
which I was astonished had not come to me sooner. 
It was to attend a sitting of the Chamber; perhaps M. 
Neigeon would speak, perhaps his wife would be there. 
But Fate decreed that I was not yet to see that fiend of 
a man. He was to have spoken, but he did not even 
make his appearance : it was said that he was detained 
in I know not what Commission of the Senate. lu 
compensation, as I seated myself at the back of a trib- 
une, I felt a thrill on perceiving Madame Gaucheraud in 
the first row of the tribune opposite. She saw me and 
glanced at me smilingly. Alas 1 Louise was not with her. 
My joy vanished. When the session was over, I managed 
to meet Madame Gaucheraud in a lobby. She greeted 
me familiarly. Felix, certainly, had spoken to her 
about me. 

“ Have you been absent from Paris ? ” she asked me. 

I stood silent, hurt by the question — I, who had run 
so furiously all over the city ! 

‘‘ I have not met you anywhere. The last reception 
at the Ministry was superb, and there has been a mar- 
vellous horse exposition.” 

Then, seeing my air of desperation, she burst out 
laughing. 

“Well, good-bye until to-morrow,” resumed she, as 


44 


THE MAISONS-LAFFITTE RACES. 


she was going away. “I shall see you down there, 
shall I not?’’ 

I answered yes, stupidly, not daring to risk a question 
for fear of hearing her laugh again. She turned and 
glanced at me with a mischievous air. 

‘‘Come,” she murmured, in the discreet tone of a 
friend who had some delightful surprise in reserve for 
me. 

I was seized with a mad desire to run after and ques- 
tion her. But slie had already turned into another 
lobby, and I flew into a rage against my foolish pride, 
which had prevented me from avowing my ignorance. 
Certainly, I was ready to go “down there;” but where 
was it ? The vagueness of this rendezvous tortured my 
mind, and, besides, I felt ashamed of not knowing what 
society knew. In the evening I hastened to Felix’s, 
proposing to myself to obtain from him, in a shrewd 
way, the information I needed. Felix was absent. Then, 
overcome by despair, I plunged into reading the news- 
papers, selecting the most fashionable ones and those 
having the largest circulation, and strove to divine, amid 
the information published for the morrow, which was 
the spot most likely to be the rendezvous of the bon ton. 
My perplexities increased ; there were all sorts of cele- 
brations: an Exposition of the Old Masters, a charity 
sale at a famous club, a musical mass at Sainte-Clotilde, 
a general rehearsal, two concerts and a taking of the 
veil, without counting races pretty nearly everywhere. 
How was an unposted provincial, conscious of his de- 
fects, to find his way amid such a confusion ? I under- 
stood perfectly that the height of fashion was to go 


THE MAISONS-LAFFITTE RACES. 


45 


to one of these places; but which one? — that was the 
question! Finally, at the risk of waiting in vain an 
entire day and of being devoured by impatience if 
I made a mistake, I dared to choose. I thought I re- 
membered having heard the two ladies speak of the 
MaisonS’Laffitte races, and an inspiration came to me — 
I resolved to attend the Maisons-Laffitte races. This 
decision made, I grew calmer. 

What a ravishing comer of the world is this suburb 
of Paris! I was unacquainted with Maisons-Laffitte, 
which enchanted me, with its gay houses, built upon a 
hill which borders the Seine. It was the early part of 
May; the apple trees, all white with bloom, formed 
huge bouquets amid the tender verdure of the poplars 
and elms. 

However, I felt myself very much of a stranger at 
first, lost between walls and green hedges, unwilling to 
ask my way of any one. I had had the joy of seeing a 
great many people take the same train; but the two 
ladies were not there, and, as I watched the passers- 
by at Maisons-Laffitte, my heart grew heavy. Getting 
beyond the houses, 1 had lost myself completely on 
the bank of the Seine when a sudden thrill stopped me 
short near a clump of briars. Fifty paces away, a group 
of persons was slowly advancing towards me, and I 
recognized Louise and Berthe; Gaucheraud and Fdlix, 
always inseparable, were following at a short distance. 
So I had guessed correctly. This filled me with pride. 
But my excitement was so great that I committed a 
piece of genuine childishness. I concealed myself 
behind the clump of briars, seized upon by I know not 


46 


THE MAISONS-LAFFITTE BACES. 


ivliat shame, fearing to appear ridiculous. When Louise 
passed, the hem of her dress touched the briars. I 
instantly comprehended the idiocy of my first impulse. 
Hence I hastened to cut across the fields; and, as the 
promenaders reached an elbow* of the road, I made my 
appearance with the most natural air possible, like a man 
who believes himself alone and has abandoned himself 
to reverie. 

“What I it’s you!^ cried Gaucheraud. 

I bowed, affecting the utmost surprise. Everybody 
uttered exclamations and we all shook hands. But 
Felix laughed in his singular manner; while Berthe 
winked her eye at me, which established a complicity 
between us. The others resumed walking and I found 
myself a few paces in the rear with her. 

“ So you came I ” said she to me, gayly, in a low tone. 

And, without giving me time to reply, she grew jocose, 
adding that I was exceedingly fortunate to be still so 
much of a child. I felt that she was an ally ; it seemed 
to me that she would have experienced a personal joy 
in bringing me to her friend’s feet. Then, Felix turned 
and asked: 

“ What are you laughing about there?” 

“Monsieur de Vaugelade has been telling me of his 
journey with a whole family of English people ! ” she 
replied, tranquilly. 

Gaucheraud had again taken Felix’s arm and drawn 
him aw^ay, as if it was his desire that my tete-a-tete 
with his wife should not be interrupted. I was left 
alone between Louise and Berthe ; I spent an hour of 
ecstasy upon that shady road which folloAved the Seine. 


THE MAISONS-LAFFITTE RACES. 


47 


Louise wore a dress of liglit silk, and her pink-lined 
parasol bathed her face with a clear, warm light, with- 
out a shadow. The country made her freer than ever ; 
she spoke loudly, looked me in the face and answered 
Berthe, who urged her on to bold conversation with a 
persistence which struck me afterwards. 

“ Give your arm to Madame Neigeon,” said Berthe, 
at last. “You’re not very gallant! Don’t you see that 
she’s fatigued?” 

I ofiered my arm to Louise, who immediately leaned 
upon it. Berthe rejoined her husband and Felix ; w^e 
were alone, more than forty paces behind. The road as- 
cended the hill and we walked very slowly. Below, the 
Seine flowed, between meadows spread out like green 
velvet carpets. There was a long, narrow island, cut by 
the two bridges, over which trains’passed with a roll as 
of distant thunder. Then, on the other side of the water, 
an immense plain full of cultivated fields extended as 
far as Mont Vale rien, the gray fortifications of which 
could be perceived at the edge of the sky, in a sprink- 
ling of sunlight. And what moved me almost to 
tears was the odor of springtime spread around us, 
mounting from the grass on both sides of the road. 

Do you soon return to Le Boquet ? ” Louise de- 
manded of me. 

I was idiotic enough to answer no, not foreseeing that 
she was about to add : 

' “Ah! that’s unfortunate! We start next week for Les 
Mureaux, the property my husband owns, two leagues 
from yours, I believe, and he counted upon inviting you 
to visit^us j ” - 


48 


THE MAISONS-LAFFITTE RACES. 


I stammered out that my father might recall me 
.much sooner than I had thought. It had seemed to me 
that I had felt her arm lean more heavily upon mine. 
Was this then a rendezvous that she was giving me? 
With the gallant idea that I had formed of this Paris- 
ienne, so free and so refined, I immediately constructed 
a romance — homage offered to her in the country, a 
month of worship beneath the great trees. Yes, it was 
that ; she had, without doubt, discovered in me the grace 
of a country gentleman and wished me to adore her in 
my proper sphere. 

‘‘I have something to scold 3'OU about!” she sud- 
denly resumed, taking on a tender and maternal air. 

‘‘Eh?” I murmured. 

“Yes, 3'our aunt has told me about jon. It appears 
that you will accel)t nothing at our hands. That’s 
very wounding, indeed! Why do you refuse? — pray 
tell me!” 

I blushed a second time. I was upon the point of 
risking my declaration, of crying out : “ I refuse be- 
cause I wish to worship at your feet ! ” But she had a 
look as if she understood and did not wish me to speak. 
Then, she added, laughing : 

“If you are proud, if you insist upon rendering 
service for service, we will very gladly accept your 
protection in the country. You are aware that a Coun- 
sellor General is to be elected. My husband is a candi- 
date, but is afraid of being defeated, which would be 
exceedingly disagreeable in his situation. Will you 
aid us ? ” 

She could not have been more charming. This story 


THE MAISONS-LAFFITTE EACES. 


49 


of the election seemed to me the pretext of a shrewd 
'woman to bring us together again in the fields. 

“Of course, I will aid you!” I answered, gayly. 

“ And, if you cause my husband’s election, it is under- 
stood that he, in his turn, will give you a lift ? ” 

“ It’s a bargain I ” 

“Yes, it’s a bargain I ” 

She offered me her little hand and I squeezed it. We 
both of us joked. This, indeed, seemed delicious to me. 
There were no longer any trees ; the sun came straight 
down on the top of the hill, and we were walking in an 
excessive heat, both of us grown silent. But that imbe- 
cile Gaucheraud came to trouble this quivering silence, 
beneath the sky of fiame. He had heard us talking of 
the Council General, and he clung to me, relating the 
story of his uncle, manoeuvering to get an introduction to 
my father. Finally, we reached the race-course. They 
thought the races superb. As for me, I was stand- 
ing behind Louise, gazing at her delicate neck all the 
time. And what an adorable return in a sudden shower 1 
The green of the country was greener still beneath the 
rain; the leaves and the soil gave forth a delightful 
odor. Louise had half-closed her eyes; she was weary 
and seemed as if taken possession of by the voluptuous- 
ness of spring. 

“Don’t forget our bargain!” she said to me at the 
ddpot, as she got into her carriage, which was waiting 
for her. “ At Les Mureaux in fifteen days — be sure to 
come!” 

I grasped the hand which she offered me, and I 
fear that I was a little rough, as, for the first time, she 


50 


IN THE VOLUBILIS BOWER. 


looked grave, with two wrinkles of displeasure about 
her lips. But Berthe seemed constantly to encourage 
me to dare further, and Felix preserved his enigmatical 
laugh, while Gaucheraud tapped me on the shoulder, 
exclaiming ! 

“At Les Mureaux in fifteen days, Monsieur de Yauge- 
lade! We shall all of us be there!” 

From the bottom of my soul I wished the devil had 
Gaucheraud ; 

: o : 

CnAPTER lY. 

IN THE VOLUBILIS BOWER. 

I HAYE just returned from Les Mureaux, and my 
mind is so full of contradictory thoughts that I 
have need to go over for myself the history of the day 
which I spent with Louise in order to try to form a 
clear opinion. 

Although Les Mureaux is only two leagues from Le 
Boquet, I am but slightly acquainted with that corner 
of our district. Our hunting-grounds are in the direc- 
tion of Gommerville, and, as it requires quite a long 
detour to cross the little Kiver of Beage, I have not 
taken that route ten times in my life. The hill, how- 
ever, is delicious, with its ascending road, bordered with 
tall walnut trees. Then, on the plateau, one again de- 
scends, and Les Mureaux lies at the entrance of a val- 
ley, the slopes of which soon approach each other again 


IN THE VOLUBILIS BOWER. 


51 


and form a narrow gorge. The dwelling, a square man- 
sion of the Seventeenth Century, is not of great impor- 
tance ; but the park is magnificent, with its broad downs 
and the bit of forest which ends it and is so tangled 
that the very paths themselves have been invaded by 
the branches. 

When I arrived on horseback, two huge dogs greeted 
me with barking and continous leaps. At the end of 
the avenue I saw a white stain. It was Louise, in a 
light dress and straw hat. She did not come down to 
meet me, but stood motionless and smiling upon the 
huge front steps which lead to the vestibule. It was 
not later than nine o’clock. 

“ Ah ! how charming you are ! ” cried she to me. 
“You, at least, are an early riser! As you see, I am the 
only one yet up in the chateau.” 

I complimented her on such courage on the part of a 
Parisienne. But she added, laughing : 

“ It is true that I’ve only been here five days. I would 
rise with the chickens the first mornings after my arrival. 
But from the second week I resume my lazy habits lit- 
tle by little and finish by coming down-stairs at ten 
o’clock, as in Paris. This morning,, however, I am still 
a country woman.” 

Never had I seen her so ravishing. In her haste to 
quit her chamber, she had negligently done up her hair, 
had thrown on the first wrapper that came handy ; and, 
fresh as a rose, her eyes yet moist from her sleep, she 
was again a child. Little tufts of hair were flying about 
her neck. I noticed that her arms were bare to the 
elbows, when her wide sleeves gaped open. 


52 


IN THE VOLUBILIS BOWER. 


‘‘You don’t know where I was going I” she resumed. 
“Well, I was going to see the volubilis growing upon 
that bower down there, which, it appears, is marvellous 
before the sun has closed its flowers. So the gar- 
dener informed me; and, as I missed my volubilis yes- 
terday, I don’t wish to do so to-day. You will accom- 
pany me, will you not?” 

I had a strong desire to offer her my arm, but I real- 
ized that such a proceeding would be ridiculous. She 
ran along like an escaped boarding-school girl. On 
reaching the bower, she uttered a cry of admiration. A 
regular drapery of volubilis hung from above, covered 
with little bells pearly with dew and the delicate tints 
of which varied from bright pink to violet and pale 
blue. The bower resembled one of those fantasies in 
the Japanese albums in its exquisite beauty and strange- 
ness. 

“Behold the reward for early rising I” said Louise, 
gayly. 

Then, she seated herself beneath the bower, and I 
hastened to sit beside her on seeing that she had pushed 
aside her skirts to make a little place for me. I was 
greatly excited, because the idea had come to me to 
bring matters to a crisis by seizing her around the waist 
and kissing her on the neck. I fully realized that this 
would be brutal behaviour, but the idea possessed me 
and I could think of nothing else. I don’t know 
whether Louise understood what was passing in my 
mind ; she did not get up, but her air grew grave. 

“First and foremost, shall we talk about our business? ” 
she said to me. 


IN THE VOLUBILIS BOWER. 


53 


Mj ears buzzed, but I strove to listen to her. It was 
dark and somewhat cold beneath the bovver. The sun 
pierced the foliage of the volubilis with slender darts 
of gold; and it looked as if golden flies and other 
golden insects had settled upon Louise’s white wrapper. 

‘‘Where were we?” she demanded of me, with the 
air of an accomplice. 

Then I told her of the strange tacking about I had 
observed in my father. He, who for ten years had cried 
down the new state oT things, prohibiting me from ever 
serving the Eepublic, had given me to understand from 
the very evening of my arrival that a young man of 
my age owed a duty to his country. I suspected my 
aunt of this conversion. The women must have been 
let loose upon him. Louise smiled as she listened to 
me. At length, she said: 

“ I met Monsieur de V augelade three days ago at a 
neighboring chateau, where I was on a visit. We had 
a chat together.” 

Then, she added, briskly : 

“You know that the election to the Council General 
takes place on Sunday. You must begin your campaign 
at once. With your father on our side, my husband’s 
success is certain.” 

“ Is Monsieur Neigeon here ? ” I inquired, after some 
hesitation. 

“Yes; he arrived yesterday evening. But you will 
not see him this morning, for he has gone off* again in 
the direction of Gommerville to take breakfast at the 
house of a proprietor, one of his friends, who has great 
influence.” 


54 


IN THE VOLUBILIS BOWER. 


Slie had arisen; I remained seated for an instant 
longer, regretting decidedly that I had not kissed her 
on the neck. Never again would I find such an obscure 
little nook, such a suitable opportunity ! But now it 
was too late; and I was so thoroughly convinced that I 
would make her laugh by falling at her feet on the 
damp ground that I postponed my declaration to a more 
favorable moment. 

Besides, at the extremity of the path, I had just 
caught sight of the cumbersome silhouette of Gaucher- 
aud. On seeing Louise and me emerge from the bower, 
he gave a little chuckle. Then, he went into ecstasies 
over our courage in rising so early. He had barely got 
down-stairs. 

“And did Berthe pass a comfortable night?” Louise 
demanded of him. 

“Ma foi, I don’t know anything about it!” he an- 
swered. “I have not yet seen her!” 

And, noticing my astonishment, he explained that it 
gave his wife the headache for the day if any one 
entered her chamber in the morning. They had two 
chambers; that was more comfortable, especially in the 
country. He concluded tranquilly, with a perfectly 
serious face : 

“ My wife adores sleeping alone.” 

As we were passing along the terrace which over- 
looked the park, we saw Berthe and my friend Felix 
come out from the vestibule. 

“You are not under the weather then?” Louise 
obligingly asked her friend. 

“ No, thank you. Only, you know, change of habita- 


IN THE VOLUBILIS BOWER. 


65 


tion upsets one’s nerves. And, besides, at daybreak, the 
birds made sucli a noise ! ” 

I grasped Felix’s hand and the two ladies exchanged 
smiles, while Gaucheraud whistled. 

Breakfast was served at eleven o’clock. When it was 
over, Gaucheraud disappeared to take his siesta. He 
had opened his heart to me, confiding to me that ho was 
afraid of not carrying the coming elections and adding 
that he counted upon residing three weeks in the ar- 
rondisseinent in order to make friends there. Hence, 
after having stopped at his uncle’s, he had decided to 
spend a few days at Les Mureaiix, desiring to show the 
entire district that he was on the best terms with the 
Neigeons; that, he thought, ought to gain him votes. 
I understood that he had a great desire to be also in- 
vited to my father’s house. The misfortune Avas that I 
did not seem to like blondes. 

I passed an exceedingly lively afternoon in the com- 
pany of the ladies and Felix. This chateau life, with 
these Parisian graces disporting themselves in the open 
air, amid the first sunbeams of summer, is truly charm- 
ing. It is the salon enlarged and continued upon the 
downs ; no longer the winter salon Avhere people are 
somewhat cramped for space, Avhere the ladies in low- 
necked dresses ply the fan in the midst of black-coated 
gentlemen standing along the wall ; but a holiday salon, 
the ladies clad in light dresses running freely along the 
paths, the gentlemen in jackets daring to show them- 
selves good-natured, an abandonment of fashionable eti- 
quette, a familiarity which excludes the ennui of ready- 
made conversations. I must confess, however, that the 


58 


IJT THE yOLUBILIS BOWER. 


behaviour of the two ladies continued to surprise me, 
who had grown up in the country among religious 
women. Louise, after breakfast, as we were taking 
coffee upon the terrace, indulged in a cigarette. Berthe 
made use of slang words as if they came natural to her. 
Later on, they both disappeared, with a great rustling of 
skirts, laughing in the distance, calling to each other, 
full of a recklessness which troubled me. It is idiotic 
to make such an avowal, but these ways, so entirely 
new to me, gave me hope that Louise would speedily 
accept my homage. Fdlix quietly smoked cigars. I 
surprised him occasionally looking at me with his jeer- 
ing air. 

At half-past four o’clock I spoke of taking my de- 
parture. Louise instantly protested. 

“ No, no, you mustn’t go ! I shall keep you to dinner ! 
My husband will surely return by that time, and you 
will see him at last ! I must absolutely introduce you 
to him I ” 

I explained to her that my father expected me. We 
were going to have a dinner at Le Boquet at which I 
found myself compelled to be present. I added, laugh- 
ing: 

“ It’s an electoral dinner and I am going to work for 
you!” 

Oh ! in that case, go immediately I ” said she. “And 
you know, if you succeed, you can come to me for your 
reward 1 ” 

It seemed to me that she blushed as she said that. 
Did she allude merely to the diplomatic post which my 
father was urging me to accept ? I thought I could at- 


IN THE YOLUBILIS BOWER. 


57 


tribute a more tender meaning to her words, whereupon 
I assumed an air so insupportably presumptuous that 
I saw her a second time grow grave, with that curl of 
the lips which gave her an expression of haughty dis- 
pleasure. 

But I had no time to reflect as to that abrupt change 
of countenance. As I was going away, a light carriage 
stopped before the front steps. At once I believed that 
Louise’s husband had returned. But the vehicle con- 
tained only two children — a little girl of about five 
years and a little boy of four — accompanied by a femme 
de chambre. They put out their arms, they laughed ; 
and, as soon as they could leap to the ground, they 
ran and clung to Louise’s skirts. She kissed them on 
their hair. 

“ Whose are these pretty children ? ” I asked. 

“ Why, mine, of course ! ” she answered, with an air 
of surprise. 

Hers! I cannot explain the shock which her words 
gave me. It seemed to me that she had suddenly es- 
caped from me, that those little creatures had dug with 
their tiny hands an impassable gulf between her and me ! 
What I she had children and I knew nothing whatever 
about it! I could not suppress this harsh exclamation: 

“You have children ! ” 

“ Certainly,” she said, tranquilly. “ They have been 
a couple of leagues this morning to see their godmother. 
Permit me to introduce them to you: Monsieur Lucien, 
Mademoiselle Marguerite!” 

The little ones smiled upon me. I must have looked 
excessively stupid. No, I could not accustom myself to 


58 


THE REWARD. 


the idea that she was a mother! That upset all my 
notions! I went away with my head in a whirl, and 
even now I know not what to think! I see Louise be- 
neath the volubilis bower and I see her kissing the hair 
of Liicien and Marguerite! Decidedly, these Parisian 
ladies are too complicated for a countryman of my ex- 
perience ! I must sleep over the matter. I will try to 
understand it to-morrow! 


: o : 

CHAPTER Y. 

THE REWARD. 

H ere is the denouement of the adventure. Oh! 

what a lesson! But let me strive to give the 
particulars calmly. 

On Sunday M. Neigeon was elected Counsellor Gen- 
eral. Upon examining the ballots it became evident 
that without our aid the candidate would have been de- 
feated. My father, who had seen M. Neigeon, had given 
me to understand that a man so absolutely mediocre 
was not to be feared ; besides, he wished to beat the 
radical candidate. But in the evening, after dinner, my 
father’s old nature awoke in him and he said to me : 

“All this is not exactly the proper thing! But they 
all drummed into my ears that I was working for you! 
Now, do what you ought to ! As for me, I’m going to 
get out of the business, for I no longer have the slight- 
est comprehension of what they are at!” 


THE REWARD. 


59 


On Monday and Tuesday I hesitated about going to 
Les Mureaux. It seemed to me that it would be some- 
wdiat brutal to go so quickly to seek my reward. The 
children had ceased to bother me now. I had argued 
the matter over with myself and had proved that Louise 
was as little a mother as possible. Was it not said in 
my province that the Parisian ladies never sacrifice a 
pleasure to their children, and that they abandon them 
to the care of servants in order to be free? Yesterday 
— Wednesday — all my scruples finally disappeared. 
Impatience was devouring me. I started on the war- 
path at eight o’clock in the morning. 

My project was to arrive at Les Mureaux at the same 
early hour as before, and to find Louise alone when she 
arose. But, when I dismounted from my horse, a ser- 
vant informed me that Madame had not yet quitted her 
chamber, without offering to notify her, however. I 
replied that I would wait. 

And I did wait — for two whole hours! I do not 
know how often I made the tour of the flower-garden. 
From time to time I raised my eyes to the windows of 
the second story; but the blinds remained hermetically 
closed. Weary and disgusted by this prolonged prome- 
nade, I, at last, went to the volubilis bower and sat 
down within it. That morning the weather was cloudy 
and the sunlight did not glide like golden dust between 
the leaves. It was almost as dark as night beneath the 
drapery of verdure. I had reflected, I had resolved to 
play all for all. My conviction was that if I hesitated 
again Louise would never accept my homage. I encour- 
aged myself by evoking her gayety and hoydenish 


60 


THE REWARD, 


ways. My plan was simple and I had matured it: as 
soon as I was alone with her, I would take her hands 
and cautiously begin by kissing her on the neck. For 
the tenth time I was perfecting my plan, when suddenly 
Louise appeared, 

“ Where have you hidden yourself? ” said she, gayly, 
searching for me in the obscurity. “ Ah ! you are 
there! For the past ten minutes I have been trotting 
after you. I ask your pardon for having made you 
wait.” 

I answered her, in a somewhat hoarse voice, that 
there was nothing wearisome about waiting when one 
thought of her! 

“ I notified you,” she resumed, without appearing to 
heed this bit of fatuity, “that I am a country woman 
only the first week. Now, I have become a Parisienne 
again and stick to my bed.” 

She had remained at the entrance of the bower, as if 
she were afraid to risk venturing amid the darkness of 
the leaves. 

“Well, why don’t you come out?” she, at last, de- 
manded of me. “ We have something to talk about.” 

“ But it’s very nice in here ! ” said I, in a quivering 
voice. “ We can talk on this bench.” 

She hesitated a second longer ; then, she said, bravely : 

“ As you will ! But it’s so dark in there ! However, 
words are without color ! ” 

And she sat down beside me. I felt myself growing 
faint. So the hour had come at last ! A moment more 
and I would take her hands! Meanwhile, altogether 
at her ease, she continued to talk in her clear voice, 


THE REWARD. 


61 


whicli was not in the slightest degree affected by any 
emotion. 

I will not thank you in cut and dried phrases. You 
gave us powerful aid, without which we would have 
gone to the dogs I ” 

I was not in a condition to interrupt her. I was all 
in a tremble ; I exhorted myself to audacity. 

“Besides, between us, words are useless!” she re- 
sumed. “ We made a bargain, you know 1 ” 

She laughed as she said that. That laugh suddenly 
decided me. I seized her hands and she did not with- 
draw them. I felt them so small and so warm in mine. 
She abandoned them amicably, familiarly, while she said : 

“And now it’s for me to fulfill that bargain, isn’t it?’' 

Then I dared to be brutal ; I drew her hands towards 
me to place them upon my lips. The darkness had 
increased ; a cloud must have passed above our heads ; 
the strong odor of the grass intoxicated me in this leafy 
nook. But, before my lips had touched her skin, she 
freed herself with a strength I should never have 
dreamed she possessed, and, in her turn, she seized me 
roughly by the wrists. She held me without anger and 
said in a voice still calm, though somewhat reproving in 
its tone : 

“ Come, now, don’t be foolish ! This is what I feared ! 
Will you permit me to give you a lesson, while I have 
you here, in this little nook ? ” 

She had the smiling severity of a mother who repri- 
mands a bad boy. 

“From the very first day, I fully understood what 
was in the wind I They had related horrors to you about 


62 


THE REWAKD. 


me, had they not? You have hoped for unutterable 
things, and I excuse you, for you know nothing of our 
world, you came to Paris with the ideas of this country 
of wolves. No doubt you will say to yourself that it 
was in some degree my fault if you deceived yourself. 
I ought to have stopped you — you would have retired 
had I uttered a single word. It is true that I did not 
utter that word ; I allowed you to go on and you must 
think me an abominable coquette. Do you know why 
I did not utter that word?’’ 

I stammered. The astonishment caused by this scene 
had paralyzed me. She grasped my wrists tighter, she 
shook me, talking to me at such close quarters that I 
felt her breath in my face. 

“I did not utter it because you interested me and I 
wished to give you this lesson. You do not understand 
yet, but you will reflect and divine what I mean. We 
are greatly slandered. We give, perhaps, sufficient pur- 
chase for that. Only, you see, there are pure women 
even among those who appear the wildest and most 
compromised. All this is very delicate. I repeat that 
you will reflect and comprehend.” 

“ Let go of me ! ” I murmured, utterly confused. 

“No, I will not let go of you! Ask my pardon if 
you want to be released 1 ” 

And, despite her tone of pleasantry, I felt that she 
was growing irritated, that tears of anger were mounting 
to her eyes because of the affront I had offered her. A 
feeling of esteem and genuine respect for this woman at 
once so charming and so firm was growing within me. 
Her Amazonian grace in bearing virtuously the imbe- 


THE REWARD. 


63 


cility of her husband, her mixture of coquetr}^ and rigor, 
her disdain for slander and her role of man in her house- 
hold, concealed beneath the recklessness of her conduct, 
made her a very complex personage who filled me with 
admiration. 

“ Pardon ! ’’ I said, humbly. 

She released me. I instantly arose, while she re- 
mained tranquilly upon the bench, no longer fearing 
anything either from the obscurity or the troubling odor 
of the foliage. She resumed her gay voice and said : 

“ Now, I get back to our bargain. As I am very 
honest, I pay my debts. Here is your appointment as 
an embassy secretary ! I received it yesterday even- 
ing ! ” 

And, seeing that I hesitated about taking the envel- 
ope which she offered me : 

“Why,’’ she cried, with an accent of irony, “it seems 
to me that at present you can accept a benefit from my 
husband without a blush ! ” 

Such was the denouement of my first adventure. 
When we quitted the bower, Felix was on the terrace, 
with Gaucheraud and Berthe. He puckered up his lips 
on seeing me advance with my appointment in my hand. 
Without doubt, he was posted about everything and was 
laughing at me. I took him aside and bitterly re- 
proached him for having allowed me to make such a 
mistake; but he answered me that experience alone 
formed youth ; and, as I called his attention to Berthe, 
who was walking in front of us, questioning him also 
about her, he gave a shrug of the shoulders, the signifi- 
cation of which was exceedingly clear. Such being the 


64 


THE KEWARD. 


State of things, I must admit that, in spite of all, I am 
yet unable to fully comprehend the strange condition of 
society, in which the most spotless women behave so 
singularly. 

But what gave me the finishing stroke was to learn 
from Gaucheraud himself that my father had invited 
him and his wife to spend three days at Le Boquet ! 
Felix smiled again, as he announced to us that he should 
return to Paris on the morrow. 

Then, I made my escape, urging as a pretext that I 
had formally promised my father to be back in time for 
breakfast. I was already at the end of the avenue, when 
I caught sight of a gentleman in a cabriolet. Quite 
likely it was M. Neigeon. Ma foi, I am delighted to 
have missed him again ! On Sunday Gaucheraud and 
his wife will install themselves at Le Boquet, What a 
task is before me! 


MADEMOISELLE FLAYIE. 

BY £MILE ZOLA. 


CHAPTER I. 

A STARTLING PROPOSITION. 

T he room in which Nantas had resided since his 
arrival from Marseilles was on the top floor of a 
house in the Eue de Lille, next to the mansion of Baron 
Danvilliers, a member of the Council of State. This 
house belonged to the baron, who had built it on the site 
of some old out-buildiugs. By leaning out of his win- 
dow, Nantas could see a corner of the baron's garden, 
across which some magnificent trees cast their shade. 
Beyond, by looking over their leafy crests, a glimpse of 
Paris was to be had : the open space left by the Seine, 
with the Tuileries, the Louvre, the quays, a whole sea 
of roofs, and the Pere Lachaise cemetery in the dim 
distance. 

Nantas’ room was a small attic, with a dormer-win- 
dow amid the tiles. He had furnished it simply with a 
bed, a table and a chair. He had taken up his abode 
there because he was attracted by the low rent, and had 
made up his mind to rough it until he found a situation 
of some kind. The dirty paper, the black ceiling, the 
general misery and barrenness of this garret did not 
4 ( 65 ) 


66 


A STARTLING PROPOSITION. 


deter liim. Living in aiglit of the Louvre and the 
Tuileries, he compared himself to a general sleeping 
in some miserable inn at the roadside within view of 
the wealthy city which he means to carry by assault on 
the morrow. 

Nantas’ story was a short one. The son of a Mar- 
seilles mason, he had begun his studies at the school in 
that town, stimulated by the ambitious affection of his 
mother, who had set her heart upon making a gentleman 
of him. His parents had stinted themselves to give him 
a good education ; but, his mother having died, Nantas 
had been obliged to accept an unprofitable situation in 
the office of a merchant, where for twelve years he had led 
a life of exasperating monotony. He would have taken 
himself off a score of times, if his sense of filial duty 
had not tied him to Marseilles, for his father, who had 
fallen from a scaffolding, was quite unable to work. One 
night, however, when Nantas returned home, he found 
the old fellow dead, with his pipe lying still warm at his 
side. Three days later the young man had sold the few 
sticks about the place, and started for Paris, with just 
two hundred francs in his pocket. 

Nantas had inherited boundless ambition from his 
mother. He was a young fellow of ready decision and 
firm will; and even when quite a boy he had been wont 
to say that he was a power. He was often laughed at 
when he so far forgot himself as to repeat his favorite 
expression confidingly, ‘‘I am a power,” an expression 
which sounded comical, indeed, when one looked at him 
in his thin black coat, all out at the elbows, and with the 
cuffs half-way up his arms. However, he had gradually 


A STARTLING PROPOSITION. 67 

made power a religion, seeing nothing else in the world, 
and feeling convinced that the strong are necessarily the 
successful. According to his idea, to be willing and able 
ought to suffice one. All the rest was of no importance. 

One Sunday, while he was walking about alone, in the 
scorching suburbs of Marseilles, he felt genius within 
him ; in his innermost being there was, as it were, an 
instinctive impulse driving him onwards; and when he 
went home to eat his plate of potatoes with his bed- 
ridden father, he was determined in his own mind that 
some day or other he would carve his own way in 
that world in which, at the age of thirty, he was still a 
nonentity. This was no low greed, no appetite for vul- 
gar pleasures ; it was the clearly defined longing of a 
will and intellect which, not being in their proper sphere, 
strove to attain to that sphere by the natural force of 
logic. 

As soon as Kantas felt the paving stones of Paris 
under his feet, he thought that he had merely to put 
forth his hands to find a situation worthy of him. On 
the very first day he began his search. He had been 
given various letters of introduction, which he presented ; 
and, moreover, he called upon several of his own country- 
men, thinking that they would help him. But at the end 
of a month there was still no result. The time was a bad- 
one, people said; besides which they merely made prom- 
ises to break them. His little store of money Avas 
swiftly diminishing — indeed, at the most, some twenty 
francs were left. It was upon these twenty francs, how- 
ever, that he was forced to live for another month, eat- 
ing nothing but bread, scouring Paris from morning till 


68 


A STARTLING PROFOSITION. 


evening, and going home to bed without a light, feeling 
tired to death, and still as poor as ever. His courage did 
not fail him ; but a mute anger arose within him. Des- 
tiny appeared to him illogical and unjust. 

One evening Nantas returned home supperless. He 
had finished his last morsel of bread on the day before. 
No money, and not a friend to lend him even a franc. Eain 
had been falling all day, one of those raw downfalls 
which are so cold in Paris. Eivers of mud were run- 
ning in the streets, and Nantas, drenched to the skin, 
had gone to Bercy and afterwards to Montmartre, where 
he had been told of work. But the situation at Bercy 
was filled up, and at-Montmartre they had decided that 
his handwriting was not good enough. Those were his 
two last hopes. He would have accepted anything, with 
the certainty that he would soon command success. He 
only asked for bread at first, something to live upon in 
Paris, a foundation-stone upon which he might build his 
fortune. He walked slowly from Montmartre to the 
Eue de Lille with his heart full of bitterness. The rain 
had ceased falling, and busy throngs crowded the streets. 
He stopped for a few minutes in front of a money- 
changer’s office. Five francs would, perhaps, suffice liim 
to become one day the master of them all. On five 
francs he could, indeed, live for a week, and in a week a 
man may achieve great things. While he was dream- 
ing thus a cab ran against him and splashed him with 
mud. He then walked on more quickly, setting his 
teeth and experiencing a savage desire to rush with 
clenched fists upon the crowd which barred the way, thus 
taking a kind of vengeance for the cruelty of fate. 


A STARTLING PROPOSITION. 


69 


In tlie Rue Richelieu he was almost run over by an 
omnibus, but he made his way to the Place du Carrousel, 
whence be threw a jealous glance at the Tuileries. On 
the Saints-Peres Bridge a little well-dressed girl obliged 
him to deviate from the straight path which he was fol- 
lowing with the obstinacy of a wild boar tracked by 
hounds, and this deviation appeared to him a supreme 
humiliation. The very children prevented his progress! 
Finally, when he had taken refuge in his room, as a 
wounded animal returns to its lair to die, he threw 
himself heavily upon his chair, deadbeat, gazing at his 
trousers which the mud had stiffened, and at his worn- 
out boots which had left a track of wet on the floor. 

The end had come then, Nantas debated how he 
should kill himself. His pride held good, and he 
imagined that his suicide would injure Paris. To be a 
power, to feel one’s own worth, and not to find a soul to 
appreciate you, not one to give you the first franc which 
you have ever wanted! It seemed monstrous to him, 
and his ivhole being revolted at the thought. Then he 
felt an immense regret as his glance fell upon his use- 
less arms. No work had any terror for him. With the 
end of his little finger he would have raised the world; 
and yet there he was, cast into a corner, reduced to 
impotence, and fuming with impatience like a caged 
lion! But presently he became calmer, death seemed to 
him grander. When he was a little boy he had been 
told the story of an inventor who, having constructed a 
marvellous machine, had one day smashed it to pieces 
with a hammer because of the indifference of the world. 
AVell, he was that man, he bore within him a new force. 


70 


A STARTLING PROPOSITION. 


a rare medianism of intelligence and will, and he W'as 
about to destroy his machine by dashing out his brains 
in the street. 

The sun was going down behind the tall trees of the 
Danvilliers mansion, an autumn sun it was with golden 
rays lighting up the yellow leaves. Kantas rose as if 
attracted by the farewell beaming of the heavenly body. 
He was about to die, he wanted light. For a moment 
he leaned out of the window. Between the masses of 
foliage he had often seen a tall, fair young girl walking 
with a queenly step in the garden. He was not romantic, 
he had passed that age when young men in garrets dream 
that w^ell-born ladies approach them with their love and 
fortunes. Yet it chanced that, at this supreme hour of 
suicide, he suddenly recollected that fair and haughty 
girl. What could be her name ? He knew not. But 
at the same time he clenched his fists, for his only feel- 
ing was one of hatred for the inhabitants of that man- 
sion where glimpses of luxury were afforded by the 
windows partially open; and he muttered in a burst of 
rage : 

“I would sell myself, I would sell myself, if some one 
would only give me the first coppers I need for my for- 
tune to come 1 ” 

This idea of selling himself occupied his mind for a 
moment. If there had been such a thing as a pawn-shop 
where people advanced money on energy and willing- 
ness, he would have gone and pledged himself. He set 
about ijnagining cases: a politician might buy him to 
make a tool of him, a banker to make use of every atom 
of his intelligence; and he accepted, scorning honor, 


A STARTLING PROPOSITION. 71 

and telling himself that it would suffice if he some day 
acquired strength and ended by winning the fight. Then 
he smiled. Did a man ever get a chance to sell himself? 
Kogues, who watch every opportunity, die of want, 
without finding a purchaser. Now that suicide seemed 
his only course he was fearful lest he should be over- 
come by cowardice, and he tried in this way to divert 
his thoughts. He had sat down again, swearing that he 
would throw himself out of the window as soon as it 
was dark. 

So great was his fatigue, however, that he fell asleep 
upon his chair. Suddenly he was awakened by the 
sound of a voice. It was the doorkeeper of the house, 
who was showing a lady into his room. 

“Sir,’^ the doorkeeper began, “I took the liberty to 
come up.’’ 

Then, seeing no light in the room, she quickly went 
down-stairs and returned with a candle. She seemed to 
know the person whom she had brought with her, being 
at once complaisant and respectful. 

“ There,” said she, on leaving the room, after placing 
the candle on the table, “you can talk at your ease; no 
one will disturb you.” 

Nantas, who had awoke with a start, looked with as- 
tonishment at the lady. She had now raised her veil, 
and appeared to be about five-and-forty, short, very stout, 
and with the face of a devotee. lie had never seen her 
before. When he offered her the only chair, casting an 
inquiring glance at her, she gave her name: 

“Mademoiselle Chuin — I have come, sir, to talk to 
you about a very important affair.” 


72 


A STARTLING PROPOSITION. 


Nantas had sat down on the edge of the bed. The name 
of Mademoiselle Chuin told him nothing, and his only 
course was to wait until she thought fit to explain her- 
self. But she seemed in no hurry to do so; she had 
given a glance round the tiny room, and appeared to be 
hesitating as to the way in which she should start the 
conversation. Finally she spoke in a very gentle voice, 
emphasizing her remarks with a smile. 

“ Well, sir, I come as a friend. I have been told your 
touching story. Do not think that I am a spy; my only 
wish is to be of use to you. I know how full of trials 
your life has been till now, with what courage you 
have struggled to find a situation, and the final result 
of all your painful efforts. Once more, sir, forgive me 
for intruding upon you. I assure you that sympathy 
alone ” 

Nantas, however, did not interrupt her; his curiosity 
was aroused, and he surmised that the doorkeeper of 
the house had furnished the lady with all these details. 
Mademoiselle Chuin, being at liberty to continue, seemed 
solely desirous of paying compliments and putting things 
in the most attractive way. 

“You have a great future before you, sir,” she resumed. 
“I have taken the liberty to follow your endeavors, and 
I have been greatly struck by your praiseworthy cour- 
age in misfortune. In one word, in my opinion there is 
a great future before you, if some one gives you a help- 
ing hand.” 

She stopped again. She was waiting for a word. The 
young man, who believed that the lady had come to 
offer him a situation, replied that he would accept any- 


A STARTLING PROPOSITION. 


73 


tiling. But she, now that the ice was broken, asked 
him point-blank: 

“Would you have any objection to marry?” 

“Marry!” cried Nantas. “Goodness, mad ame I who 
would have me ? Some poor girl that I could not even 
feed!” 

“ No ; a very pretty girl, very rich, splendidly con- 
nected, who will at once put you in possession of the 
means to attain to the highest position.” 

Nantas laughed no longer. 

“Then what are the terms?” he asked, instinctively 
lowering his voice. 

“The girl has been unfortunate, and you must own 
her offspring,” said Mademoiselle Chuin, putting aside 
her unctuous phraseology in her desire to come straight 
to the point. 

Nantas’ first impulse was to turn the woman out of 
the door. 

“ It’s an infamous thing to propose ! ” he muttered. 

“Infamous!” exclaimed Mademoiselle Chuin, affecting 
her honeyed tones again. “I can’t admit that ugly 
word. The truth is, sir, that you will save a family 
from despair. Her father knows nothing as yet; she 
has not long been in this condition, and it was I myself 
who conceived the idea of marrying her as soon as pos- 
sible, representing the husband to be the cause of the 
trouble. I know her father; it would kill him. My 
plan would soften the blow; he would think the wrong 
half- redressed. The unfortunate part of it is that the 
real culprit is a married man. Ah! sir, there are men 
who really have no moral sense.” 


74 


A STABTLING PROPOSITIOIT, 


She might have gone on like this for a long while, for 
Nantas was not listening to her. lie was thinking why- 
should he refuse? Had he not been proposing to sell 
himself a little while back? Very well, here was a buyer. 
Fair exchange is no robbery. lie would give his name, 
and he would be given a situation. It was an ordinary 
contract. He looked at his muddy trousers, and felt that 
he had eaten nothing since the day before ; all the disgust 
of his two months’ struggling and humiliation rose up 
within him. At last he was about to set his foot on the 
world which had repulsed him, and driven him to the 
verge of suicide ! 

‘‘I accept 1” he said, curtly. 

Then he demanded a clear explanation from Made- 
moiselle Chuin. What did she want for her services? 
She protested at first that she wanted nothing. How- 
ever, she ended by claiming twenty thousand francs out 
of the dowry which the young man would receive. 
And, as he did not haggle over the terms, she became 
expansive. 

‘‘Listen,” she said, “it was I who thought of you, and 
the young lady did not refuse when I mentioned your 
name. Oh 1 you will thank me later on. I might have 
got a title; I know a man who would have jumped at 
the chance. But I preferred to choose some one out- 
side of the poor child’s sphere. It will appear more 
romantic. And then I like you. You are good-look- 
ing, and have plenty of sense. You will make your 
way; and you mustn’t forget me. Eemember that I’m 
devoted to you.” 

So far no name had been mentioned, and upon Nantas 


A STARTLING PROPOSITION. 


75 


making an inquiry in this respect, the old maid stood up 
and said, introducing herself afresh : 

“Mademoiselle Chuin; I have been living as gover- 
ness in Baron Danvilliers’ family since the baroness’ 
death. I educated Mademoiselle Flavie — the baron’s 
daughter. Mademoiselle Flavie is the young lady in 
question.” 

Then she withdrew, after formally placing on the 
table an envelope containing a five hundred franc note. 
It was an advance which she herself made to defray the 
preliminary expenses. 

When FTantas found himself alone, he went to the 
window again. The night was very dark; nothing was 
to be seen but the black masses of shadow cast by the 
trees ; one window only in the gloomy frontage of the 
mansion showed a light. So it was that tall, fair girl 
who walked with such a queenly step, and did not deign 
to notice him. She or some other, what mattered it? 
The girl was no part of the bargain. Then Nantas 
raised his eyes still higher, upon Paris roaring in the 
gloom, upon the quays, the streets, the squares, upon the 
whole left bank of the river, illuminated by the flicker- 
ing gaslights; and like a superior being he addressed 
the city, saying: 

“Now, you are mine!” 


76 


MADEMOISELLE FLAVIE. 


CHAPTER II. 

MADEMOISELLE FLA VIE. 

B aron DANVILLIERS was sitting in the room 
which served him as a study, a cold, lofty apart- 
ment, furnished with old-fashioned leather- covered furni- 
ture. For the last two days he had been in a state of 
stupor. Mademoiselle Chuin having informed him of 
what had befallen Flavie. In vain had she softened and 
toned down the facts; the old man had been overcome 
by the blow, and it was only the thought that the 
offender was in a position to offer the sole reparation 
possible that kept him from death. That morning he 
was awaiting the visit of this man, who was utterly 
unknown to him, but who had robbed him of his daugh- 
ter. He rang the bell. 

“Joseph, a young man will call, whom you will show 
in here at once. I am not at home to any one else,” he 
said. 

Sitting alone at his fireside, he brooded bitterly. The 
son of a mason, a starveling without any position 1 
Mademoiselle had certainly spoken of him as a prom- 
ising youtli, but what a disgrace in a family whose hon- 
or had hitherto been stainless! Flavie had accused 
lierself with a kind of passionate eagerness, so as to acquit 
her governess of the slightest blame. Since the painful 
scene she had kept her room, and, indeed, the baron had 
refused to see her. Before forgiving her he was deter- 


MADEMOISELLE FLA VIE. 


77 


mined to look into the matter. All his plans were laid. 
But his hair had grown whiter, and his head shook 
with age. 

** Monsieur Nantas,” announced Joseph. 

The baron did not rise. He simply turned his head 
and looked fixedly at Nantas, who walked forward. The 
latter had had the good sense not to yield to a desire to 
dress himself up ; he had simply bought a black coat 
and a pair of trousers, which were decent but very worn, 
and gave him the appearance of a poor but careful 
student, with nothing of the adventurer about him. He 
stopped in the middle of the room and waited, standing 
up, but without humility. 

“ So it is you, sir,” stammered the old man. 

But he could not continue, for his emotion choked 
him, and he feared lest he might commit some act of 
violence. After a pause, he said, simply : 

“You have committed a wicked deed, sir.” 

Then when Nantas was about to make some excuse, 
he repeated more emphatically : 

“A wicked deed. I wish to know nothing, I request 
you not to explain anything to me. Even if my daugh- 
ter had thrown herself at your head, your crime would 
have been the same. Only robbers break in upon fam- 
ilies in this way.” 

Nantas hung his head again. 

“It is making money very easily, setting a trap in 
which one is certain of catching both child and father.” 

“Allow me, sir,” interrupted the young man, stung 
by these words. 

But the baron made a violent gesture. 


78 


MADEMOISELLE FLAYIE. 


“ What? Why should I allow anything? It is not 
for you to speak here. I am telling you what I am in 
duty bound to tell you, and what you are bound to hear, 
since you come before me as a culprit. You have in- 
sulted me. Look at this house. Our family has lived 
here for more than three centuries without reproach. 
Standing here, are you not conscious of our ancient 
honor and dignity? Well, sir, you have trifled with 
all that. It nearly killed me; and to-day my hands 
tremble as if I had suddenly grown ten years older. Bo 
silent and listen to me.” 

Nantas had turned very pale. He had taken a diffi- 
cult part upon himself. He felt anxious to make the 
blindness of passion serve as his pretext. 

“ I lost my head,” he muttered, trying to make up 
some tale. ‘‘ I could not look at Mademoiselle 
Flavie ” 

At his daughter’s name the baron rose and cried in a 
voice like thunder : 

“ Silence ! I have told you that I do not wish to 
know anything. Whether my daughter sought you or 
you sought her, it matters little to me. I have asked 
her nothing, and I ask you nothing. Keep your confes- 
sions to yourselves, I will have nothing to do with such 
things.” 

Then he sat down again, trembling and exhausted. 
Nantas bent his head, feeling deeply moved, in spite of 
the command he had over himself. After a pause the 
old man continued in the dry tone of a person discussing 
business matters : 

“I beg pardon, sir. I had determined to keep cool 


MADEMOISELLE FLA VIE. 


79 


but failed. You are not at my disposal ; I am at yours, 
since I am in your power. You are here to carry out 
what has become necessary. To business, sir.’’ 

And thenceforward he affected to speak like a lawyer, 
settling as agreebly as possible some shameful case in 
which he was loath to dabble. He began formally : 

“Mademoiselle Flavie Danvilliers inherited at the 
death of her mother a sum of two hundred thousand 
francs, which she was not to receive until her marriage. 
This sum has produced interest; but here are the 
accounts of my guardianship, which I will communicate 
to you.” 

lie opened a book and began to read some figures. 
Nantas in vain tried to stop him. Emotion seized him 
in the presence of this old man, who appeared so upright 
and simple, and who seemed to him so great because he 
was so calm. 

“Finally,” the baron concluded, “I bestow on you, by 
an agreement which my notary drew up this morning, 
another sum of two hundred thousand francs. I know 
that you have nothing. You can draw those two hun- 
dred thousand francs at my bankers’ on the day after 
the marriage.” 

“But I don’t ask for your money, sir,” said Nantas, “I 
only want your daughter.” 

The baron cut him short. 

“You have not the right to refuse,” he said, “and 
my daughter could not marry a man with less money 
than herself. I give you the dowry which I intended 
for her, that is all. Possibly you reckoned on more, 
for I have the credit of being richer than I really am.” 


80 


MADEMOISELLE FLAVIE. 


And as the young man remained mute at this last 
thrust, the baron put an end to the interview by ringing 
the bell. 

“ Joseph, tell Mademoiselle Flavie that I want her in 
my room at once.” 

He had risen from his chair, and now began to walk 
slowly about the room. Nantas remained motionless. 
He was deceiving this old man, and he felt small and 
powerless before him. At last Flavie appeared. 

“ My child,” said the baron, “ here is the man. The 
marriage will take place as soon as possible.” 

Then he went out of the room, leaving them alone, as 
if, so far as he was concerned, the marriage were over. 

When the door shut silence reigned. Nantas and 
Flavie looked at one another. They had never met 
before. He thought her very handsome, with her pale 
and haughty face, and her large gray eyes which never 
drooped. Perhaps she had been crying during the three 
days that she had spent in her room ; but the coldness 
of her cheeks must have frozen her tears. She it was 
who spoke first. 

“ Then the matter is settled, sir,” she said. 

“Yes, rnadame,” replied Nantas, simply. 

Her face contracted involuntarily as she cast a long 
look at him, a look which seemed to be fathoming his 
baseness. 

“ Well, so much the better,” she continued. “ I was 
afraid I should not find any one to agree to such a 
bargain.” 

Nantas could distinguish in her voice all the scorn 
which she felt for him, but he raised his head. If he 


MADEMOISELLE FLA VIE. 


81 


had trembled before the father, knowing that he was 
deceiving him, he determined to be firm with the daugh- 
ter, who was his accomplice. 

“ Excuse me, madame,’^ he said calmly, and with the 
greatest politeness. “I think you misconceive the 
position in which what you rightly call the bargain 
has placed us. I apprehend that, from to-day forth, we 
are on a footing of perfect equality.” 

“ Indeed ! ” interrupted Flavie, with a scornful 
smile. 

“Yes, perfect equality. You require a name, in order 
to conceal a fault which I do not presume to condemn, 
and I give you my name. On my side I require money, 
and a certain social position, in order to carry out some 
great enterprises, and you furnish me with that money 
and position. We thus become two partners whose 
capitals balance. It only remains for us to express our 
mutual thanks for the service which we are rendering to 
one another.” 

She smiled no longer; indeed, a look of irritated 
pride appeared upon her face. After a pause she asked. 

“ You know my conditions ? ” 

“ No, madame,” said Nantas, preserving perfect calm- 
ness. “Be good enough to name them. I agree to 
them in advance.” 

Upon this she spoke as follows, without once hesita- 
ting or blushing: 

“ You will never be my husband save in name. Our 
lives will remain completely distinct and separate. You 
will give up all rights over me, and I shall owe no duty 
towards you.” 

6 


82 


MADEMOISELLE FLAVIE. 


At each sentence Nantas made an affirmative sign. 
This was precisely what he desired. 

“If I thought it part of my duty to be gallant,” he 
said, “ I should assert that such cruel conditions would 
drive me to despair. But we are above empty compli- 
ments. I am pleased to see that you have such a just 
appreciation of our respective positions. We are not 
entering upon life hy the path of roses. I only ask one 
thing of you, madame, which is, that you will not make 
use of the liberty I shall accord you in such a way 
as to necessitate any interference on my part.” 

“What, sir I ” exclaimed Fla vie, violently, her pride 
revolting. 

Nantas bowed respectfully, and entreated her not to 
be offended. Their position was a delicate one ; they 
must both of them put up with certain allusions, without 
which a perfect understanding would be impossible. He 
refrained from insisting further. Mademoiselle Chuin, 
in a second interview, had told him of Flavie’s fault. 
Her friend was a certain Monsieur des Fondettes, the 
husband of one of Flavie’s school companions. Whilst 
she was spending a month with them in the country, she 
one evening found herself in this man’s power without 
knowing exactly how it had all happened. Mademoi- 
selle Chuin almost went so far as to speak of violence. 

Suddenly Nantas felt a friendly impulse. Like all 
those who are conscious of thbir own power, he was 
fond of being good-natured. 

“Listen, madame,” he exclaimed. “We don’t know 
one another, but it would be really wrong of us to hate 
one another at first sight. Perhaps Ave are made to 


MADEMOISELLE FLA VIE. 


83 


understand eacli other. I can see that you despise 
me, but perhaps that is because you do not know my 
story.” 

Then he began to talk feverishly, throwing himself 
into a state of excitement as he spoke of his life, his 
ambition, and his desperate, fruitless efforts in Paris. 
Then he displayed his scorn of what he called social 
conventionalism, in which ordinary men became en- 
tangled. What mattered the opinion of the world, he 
asked, when a man had his foot on it I He must show 
his superiority. Power was an excuse for all. And in 
glowing terms he painted the sovereign existence which 
he would make for himself. He feared no further 
obstacle ; nothing prevailed against power. lie would 
be powerful, and therefore he would be happy. 

“ Don’t imagine that I am miserably sordid,” he con- 
tinued. am not selling myself for your fortune ; I 
simply take your money as a means to rise. Oh, if you 
only knew what is working within me! if you only 
knew the burning nights which I have spent always 
meditating over the same idea, which was only swept 
away by the reality of the morrow, then you would 
understand me! You would then, perhaps, be proud to 
lean on my arm, saying to yourself that you at least had 
furnished me with the means to become some one!” 

She listened to him in silence, without one of her 
features moving. And he asked himself a question 
which he had been turning over in his mind for three 
days past, without being able to find an answer to it : 
Had she noticed him at his window, that she had so 
readily accepted Mademoiselle Chuin’s scheme when the 


84 


A SPOILED TRIUMPH. 


latter had mentioned him ? The singular idea occurred 
to him that, perhaps, she would have loved him with a 
romautic love if he had indignantly refused the bargain 
which the governess had proposed to him. 

He stopped at last, and Flavie maintained an icy 
silence. Then, as if he had not made his confession, 
she repeated in a dry voice: 

^‘Then, my husband in name only, our lives com- 
pletely distinct, absolute liberty.” 

Nantas at once resumed his ceremonious air, and, 
in the curt voice of a man discussing an agreement, 
replied: 

“It is settled, madame.” 

Ill-pleased with himself, he then withdrew. How 
was it that he had yielded to the foolish desire to over- 
come that woman? She was very handsome; but it 
was better that there should be nothing in common 
between them, for she might hamper him in life. 

:o: 

CIIAPTEE IIL 

A SPOILED TRIUMPH. 

T en years had passed. One morning Nantas was 
sitting in the study in which Baron Dan villi ers 
had given him such a formidable reception on the 
occasion of their first meeting. This study was now his 
own; the baron, after being reconciled to his daughter 
and his son-in-law, had given up the house to them. 


A SPOILED TRIUMPH. 


85 


merely reserving for his own use a little building situ- 
ated at the other end of the garden and overlooking the 
Eue de Beaune. In ten years’ time, Nantas had won for 
himself one of the highest positions attainable in the 
financial and mercantile worlds. Having a hand in all 
the great railway enterprises, engaged in all the land 
speculations which signalized the beginning of the 
Second Empire, he had rapidly realized an immense 
fortune. But his ambition did not halt at that ; he was 
determined to play a part in politics, and he had suc- 
ceeded in getting elected as a deputy in a department 
where he had several farms. Since taking his place in 
the Legislative Body, he had posed as a future Finance 
Minister. Thanks to his practical knowledge and his 
ready tongue, he was day by day acquiring a more 
important position. He was skilful enough to affect 
absolute devotion to the Empire, but at the same time 
he professed theories on financial subjects which made a 
great stir, and which he knew gave the Emperor a deal 
to think of. 

On this particular morning Nantas was overloaded 
with business. The greatest activity prevailed in the 
spacious offices which he had arranged on the ground- 
floor of the mansion. There was a crowd of clerks, 
some sitting motionless behind wickets, and others 
constantly going backwards and forwards, to the sound 
of banging doors. There was the constant ring of gold, 
bags open and overflowing on the tables, the tinkling 
music of wealth which might have flooded the streets. 
In the ante-room a crowd was surging ; place-hunters, 
financial agents, politicians, all Paris on its knees before 


86 


A SPOILED TRIUMPH. 


power. Great men frequently waited there patiently for 
an bour at a stretch. And he, sitting at bis table, in 
correspondence with people far and near, able to grasp 
the world with his outstretched arms, was realizing his 
former dream of force, feeling conscious that he was the 
intelligent motor of a colossal machine which moved 
kingdoms and empires. 

Suddenly he rang for his usher. He seemed anxious. 

‘‘Germain,” be said, “do you know whether your 
mistress has come in?” 

And when the man replied that he did not know, he 
told him to summon his wife’s maid. But Germain did 
not move. 

“Excuse me, sir,” be whispered; “the President of 
the Corps Legislatif insists on seeing you.” 

Nantas made an impatient gesture and replied: 

“Well, show him in, and do as I told you.” 

On the day before, a speech which Nantas had made 
on an important budgetary question had produced such 
an impression that the matter had been referred to a 
commission to be amended according to his views. 
After the sitting of the Chamber a rumor had spread 
that the Finance Minister intended to resign, and Nan- 
tas was at once spoken of as his probable successor. 
For his part he shrugged his shoulders: nothing had 
been done, he had only had an interview with the Em- 
peror with regard to certain special points. However, 
the President’s visit might have vast significance. At 
this thought Nantas tried to throw off the feeling of 
preoccupation which was weighing on him, and rose to 
grasp the President’s hand. 


A SPOILED TEIUMPH. 


87 


* Ah, Monsieur le Due,”* he said, “ I beg your par- 
don. I did not know you were here. Believe me, I am 
deeply sensible of the honor which you are paying me.” 

For a minute they talked cordially ; then the Presi- 
dent, without saying anything definite, gave him to 
understand that he had been sent by the Emperor to 
sound him. Would he accept the finance portfolio, and 
what would be his programme? Upon this, Nantas, 
with superb calmness, named his conditions. But 
beneath the impassibility of his face a mute triumph 
was SAvelling. At last he had mounted the final rung, 
he was at the top of the ladder. Another step, and he 
would have all heads save that of the sovereign beneath 
him. As the President concluded, saying that he was 
going at once to the Emperor to communicate Nantas’ 
programme, a small door, which communicated with the 
private part of the house opened, and the maid of the 
financier’s wife appeared. 

Nantas, suddenly turning pale, stopped short in the 
middle of a sentence and hurried to the girl, saying to 
the duke: “Pray excuse me.” 

Tlien he questioned the servant in Avhispers. Ma- 
dame had gone out early ? Ilad she said where she was 
going? When was she expected home? The maid 
replied vaguely, like a clever girl who did not wish to 
compromise herself. Understanding the absurdity of 
the situation, Nantas concluded by remarking: 

“ Tell your mistress as soon as she comes in that I 
wish to speak to her.” 


story are supposed to take place during the earlier 


88 


A SPOILED TRIUMPH. 


The duke, somewhat surprised, had stepped up to a 
window' and was looking into the court-yard. Nantas 
now returned to him, again apologizing. But he had 
lost his self-possession, he stammered, and astonished 
the duke by his clumsy remarks. 

“There, I’ve spoilt the whole business,” he exclaimed 
aloud, when the President had gone. “ I’ve missed the 
portlblio.” > 

He sat down, feeling disgusted and angry. Several 
more visitors were then shown in. An engineer had a 
report to present to him, announcing that enormous 
profits would arise from the working of some mine. A 
diplomatist interviewed him on the subject of a loan 
which a foreign power wanted to negotiate in Paris. 
His tools flocked in, rendering accounts of twenty differ- 
ent schemes. Finally he received a large number of his 
colleagues in the Chamber, all of whom went into rap- 
tures about his speech of the day before. 

Leaning back in his chair, he accepted all this flattery 
without a smile. The clink of gold was still audible in 
the neighboring rooms, the house seemed to tremble 
like a factory, as if all this money were manufactured 
there. He had only to take up a pen to despatch tele- 
grams which would have spread joy or consternation 
through the markets of Europe; he could prevent or 
precipitate war, by supporting or opposing the loan of 
which he had been told; he even held the fate of the 
French Budget in his hands, and he would soon know 
whether it would be best for him to support or oppose 
the Empire. This was his triumph, his formidable per- 
sonality had become the axis upon which a world was 


A SPOILED TRItTMPH. 


89 


turning. And yet lie did not enjoy this triumph, as he 
had promised himself that he would. He experienced 
a feeling of listlessness, his mind was elsewhere, on the 
alert at the slightest audible sound. Scarcely had a 
flame, a fever of satisfied ambition, risen to his cheeks 
than he felt himself turn pale, as if a cold hand from 
behind had been laid upon his neck. 

Two hours had passed and Flavie had not yet ap- 
peared. Nantas at last called Germain, and gave him 
orders to summon Baron Danvilliers, if the old gentle- 
man was at home. Then he began to pace his study, 
refusing to see any one else that day. Little by little 
his agitation had increased. His wife had evidently 
been to keep some appointment. She must have re- 
newed her acquaintance with Monsieur des Fondettes. 
The latter’s wife had died six months previously. True, 
Nantas disclaimed being jealous; during ten years he 
had strictly observed the agreement; but he drew the 
line, as he said, at being made a dupe of. Never would 
he allow his wife to compromise his position by making 
him a laughing-stock. Ilis strength forsook him as he 
became a prey to that feeling of a husband who demands 
respect. He experienced agony such as he had never 
endured, not even in his most hazardous speculations, at 
the commencement of his career. 

At last Flavie entered the room, still in her outdoor 
costume; she had merely taken off* her gloves and hat. 
Nantas, whose voice trembled, told her that he would 
have g(me to her if he had known that she had come in. 
But, without sitting clown, she motioned to him to have 
done quickly. 


90 


A SPOILED TRIUMPH. 


“Madame,” he began, “an explanation has become 
necessary between ns. Where were you this morning? ” 

Her husband’s quivering voice and the pointedness of 
his question astonished her profoundly. 

“Where it pleased me to go,” she replied in a cold 
tone. 

“That is exactly what, in future, I must object to,” he 
resumed, turning very pale. “It is your duty to recol- 
lect what I said to you ; I will not allow you to make 
use of the liberty I grant you in a way which may bring 
disgrace upon my name.” 

riavie smiled in sovereign disdain. 

“ Disgrace your name, sir? But that is a question which 
regards yourself. It is a thing which no longer remains 
to be done.” 

Upon this, Nantas, wild with passion, advanced, as if 
to strike her. 

“You wretched creature!” he stammered, “you have 
just left Monsieur des Fondettes. You have, I know it 1 ” 

“You are wrong,” she replied, without recoiling; “I 
have never seen Monsieur des Fondettes again. But 
even if I had, it would not be for you to reproach me. 
What difference would it make to you? You forget 
our compact.” 

He looked at her for a moment with wild eyes; then, 
choking with sobs, and throwing into one cry all the 
passion which he had so long stifled, he flung himself at 
her feet. 

“ Oh, Flavie, I love you 1 ” 

Unbending still, she drew back, for he had touched 
the edge of her dress. But the wretched man followed 


A SPOILED TRIUMPH. 


91 


her, dragging himself on his knees- with his hands 
uplifted. 

“1 love you, Flavie, I love you to madness! How it 
happened I know not. It began years ago, and it grew 
and grew, till now it has absorbed my whole being. 
Oh 1 I have struggled. I thought this passion unworthy 
of me. I called our first interview to mind. But now 
I suffer too much. I must speak ” 

For a long time he continued thus. It was the shat- 
tering of all his principles. This man, who had put his 
trust in force, who maintained that volition was the sole 
lever capable of moving the world, was crushed, feeble 
like a child, disarmed by a woman. And his dream of 
fortune realized, his present high position, he would 
have given all for that woman to have raised him by a 
kiss upon his brow! She spoiled his triumph. He no 
longer heard the gold which sounded in his office ; he no 
longer thought of the endless procession of flatterers 
who came to bow their knees to him ; he forgot that the 
Emperor, at that moment, perhaps, was summoning him 
to power. All these things had no existence for him. 
lie had everything, save the only thing he wished for — 
Flavie. And if she denied herself, then he had nothing 
left him 1 

“Listen,” he continued; “whatever I have done, I 
have done for you. At first, it is true, you went for. 
nothing in it ; I simply worked to gratify my own pride. 
But soon you became the one object of all my thoughts, 
of all my efforts. I told myself that I must mount as 
high as possible, in order* to become worthy of you. I 
hoped to make you unbend on the day when I laid my 


92 


A SPOILED TRIUMPH. 


power at your feet. See what I am to-day. Have I not 
won your forgiveness ? Do not despise me any longer, I 
entreat you.’^ 

As yet she had not spoken. Now, however, she said, 
calmly : 

“ Get up, sir. Somebody might come in.” 

He refused, and still went on entreating. Perhaps he 
would have bided his time if he had not been jealous of 
Monsieur des Fondettes. It was that torture which mad- 
dened him. At last he became very humble. 

“ I see that you still despise me. Very well, wait, do 
not bestow your love on any one. I can promise you so 
much that I shall know how to move you. You must 
forgive me if I was harsh just now. I am out of my 
senses. Oh, let me hope that you will love me some 
day I” 

“ Never ! ” she answered, energetically. 

Then, as he still remained on the floor seemingly 
crushed, she would have left the room; but suddenly, 
beside himself with fury, he sprang up and seized her by 
the wrists. A woman braved him thus when the world 
was at his feet! lie was capable of anything, could 
overthrow States, rule France as he pleased, and yet he 
could not obtain his wife’s love ! He, so strong, so pow- 
erful, he whose slightest desires were orders, he had but 
one desire now, and that desire would never be gratified, 
because a creature, who was as weak as a child, refused 
her consent 1 He grasped her arms, and repeated in a 
hoarse whisper : 

. ‘a will— I will ” 

‘^And I will not,” replied Flavie, pale and obstinate. 


A SPOILED TRIUMPH. 


93 


The struggle was still going on when Baron Dan- 
villiers opened the door. On seeing him, Nantas re- 
leased Flavie and cried ; 

“Your daughter has just come from a rendezvous, sir! 
Tell her that a woman should respect her husband’s 
name, even if she does not love him, even if the 
thought of her own honor does not stand in the way.” 

The baron, who was greatly aged, remained standing 
on the threshold, gazing at this violent scene. It was a 
melancholy surprise for him. He had believed them to 
be united, and he looked with approval on their cere- 
monious intercourse in public, considering that to be a 
mere matter of form. Ilis son-in-law and he belonged 
to different generations; but although he disliked the 
financier’s somewhat unscrupulous activity, although he 
condemned certain undertakings which he regarded as 
undesirable, he was forced to recognize Nantas’ strength 
of will and his quick intellect. And now he suddenly 
came upon this drama, which he had never even sus- 
pected. 

When Nantas accused Flavie of having an admirer, 
the baron, who still treated his married daughter with 
the same severity as he had shown her when a child, 
advanced with a stately step. 

“I swear to you that she has just come from her 
admirer’s,” repeated Nantas ; “ and, look at her, she 
defies me.” 

Flavie turned away her head disdainfully. She was 
arranging her cuffs, which her husband had crushed in 
his roughness. Not a blush was to be seen on her face. 
Her father spoke to her. 


94 


A SPOILED TBIUMPH. 


“ My child,” said he, “ why do you not defend your- 
self? Can your husband be speaking the truth ? Can 
you have reserved this last grief for my old age ? The 
oftence would fall on me as well ; for the fault of one 
member of a family falls upon the others.” 

Flavie made a gesture of impatience. Her father had 
well chosen his time to accuse her! For a moment 
longer she bore his questions, wishing to spare him the 
shame of an explanation. But as he in his turn lost 
patience, seeing her mute and obstinate, she finally 
replied : 

“Father, let this man play his part. You do not 
know him. For your own sake do not force me to 
speak out.” 

“ He is your husband,” said the old man, “ the father 
of your child.” 

Flavie started, stung to the quick. 

“ No, no, he is not the father of my child. I will tell 
you everything now. This man is not even a sinner, for 
it would be at least some excuse for him if he had loved 
me. This man simply sold himself and agreed to hide 
another’s sin.” 

The baron turned towards Nantas, who had recoiled, 
deadly pale. 

“Do you hear me, father?” continued Flavie, more 
violently. “ He sold himself, sold himself for money ! 
I have never loved him, and he has never touched me 
even with the tips of his fingers. I wished to spare 
you a great sorrow. I bought him, so that he might lie 
to you. Look at him now. See whether I am not telling 
you the truth.” 


A SPOILED TRIUMPH. 


95 


Nantas hid his face in his hands. 

‘‘And now,” resumed the young woman, “ he actually 
wants me to love him. He went down on his knees 
awhile ago and cried. Some comedy, no doubt. For- 
give me for having deceived you, father; but how can I 
belong to this man? Now that you know all, take me 
away. Indeed, he treated me with violence a moment 
since, and I will not remain here an instant longer.” 

The baron straightened his bent figure. In silence he 
stepped forward and gave his arm to his daughter. The 
two crossed the room, without Nantas making a move- 
ment to detain them. Then, upon reaching the door, the 
old man spoke these two words; 

“ Farewell, sir.” 

The door closed. Nantas remained alone, crushed, 
gazing wildly into the void around him. Germain came 
in and placed a letter on the table; Nantas opened it 
mechanically, and cast his eyes over it. This letter, 
written by the Emperor himself, gave him the appoint- 
ment of Finance Minister, and was couched in the most 
flattering terms. He could hardly understand it; the 
realization of all his ambition did not affect him in the 
least. 

Meanwhile, in the neighboring rooms the rattle of 
money had grown louder ; it was the busiest hour of the^ 
day, the hour when Nantas’ house seemed to shake the 
world. And he, amid this colossal machinery which 
was his work, he, at the apogee of his power, with his 
eyes stupidly fixed on the Emperor’s letter, uttered this 
child’s complaint, the negation of his whole life: 

“I am not happy! I am not happy!” 


96 


TREACHEKY. 


Then, resting his head upon the table, he wept, and 
the hot tears that gushed forth from his eyes blotted the 
letter which he had just received, appointing him 
Minister of Finance. 


: o : 

CHAPTER lY. 

TREACHERY. 

D URING- the whole of the eighteen months that 
Nantas had been a minister he had been trying 
to drown the past by superhuman toil. On the day after 
the scene in his study he had had an interview with 
Baron Danvilliers; and Flavie, acting on her father’s 
advice, had consented to return to her husband’s roof. 
But they spoke no word together, except when they 
were forced to play a comedy in the eyes of the world. 
Nantas had determined not to leave his house. In the 
evening his secretaries came to him from the ministry, 
and he got through all his work at home. 

It was at this period of his life that he performed his 
greatest deeds. A secret voice suggested lofty and fruit- 
ful aspirations to him. Whenever he passed by, a mur- 
mur of sympathy and admiration was heard. But he 
remained insensible to eulogy. It may be said that he 
worked without hope of reward, with the sole idea of 
])erforming prodigies, of which the only aim was to 
compass the impossible. At each step on his upward 
career he consulted Flavie’s face. Was she touched at 


TREACHERY. 


97 


last? Did she pardon him his former baseness ? Ilad 
she still any thought save of the development of liis 
intellect? But never did he surprise any emotion on 
this woman’s mute countenance, and he said to himself, 
as he redoubled his efforts : “ I am not high enough for 
her yet ; I must mount, still mount.” 

lie was • determined to compel happiness, as he had 
compelled fortune. All his old belief in his power 
returned, he would not admit that there was any other 
lever in this world; it was will which produced human- 
ity. AVhen discouragement seized him at times, he shut 
himself up, so that no one should witness the weakness 
of his flesh. His struggles could only be read in his 
deep-set, dark-circled eyes, in which an intense flame 
blazed. 

He was devoured by jealousy now. To fail to win 
Flavie’s love was a torture; but the thought that she 
might surrender herself to another drove him mad. By 
way of asserting her liberty, it was quite possible that she 
might openly associate with Monsieur des Fondettes. 
Her husband affected not to occupy himself with her, 
but all the time he endured agony whenever she absented 
herself, even if it were only for an hour. If he had not 
feared to make himself look ridiculous, he would have 
followed her in the streets. That course displeasing 
him, he determined to have some one beside her whose 
devotion he could purchase. 

Mademoiselle Chuin had remained an inmate of the 
house. The baron was used to her, not to mention that 
she knew too much to make it advisable to get rid of 
her. At one time the old maid had resolved to retire on 
6 


98 


TREACHERY, 


the twenty thousand francs that Nantas had paid over to 
her on the day after his marriage. But she had, no 
doubt, calculated that there would be further pickings 
in such a household. So she awaited her opportunity, 
having found, moreover, that she needed yet another 
twenty thousand francs to buy the long-desired notary’s 
house at Eoinville, the little market town she came from. 

There was no occasion for Nantas to mince matters 
with this old lady, whose pious mien no longer deceived 
him. However, on the morning when he called her into 
his study and openly proposed to her that she should 
keep him informed as to his wife’s slightest actions, she 
professed to be insulted, and asked him what he took 
her for. 

“ Come,” said he, impatiently, I’m very busy ; some 
one is waiting for me, let us be brief, please.’^ 

But she would listen to nothing which was not 
couched in proper terms. One of her principles was 
that things are not ugly in themselves, that they only 
become ugly or cease to be so according to the way in 
which they are presented. 

“ Very well,” said Nantas, “a good action is involved 
in this. I am fearful that my wife is hiding some grief 
from me. For the last few weeks I have observed that 
she has been very much depressed, and I thought that 
3^ou could find out the cause of it.” 

“You can count on me,” said Mademoiselle Chuin, 
with a maternal outburst on hearing these words. “ I 
am devoted to your wife, I will do anything for the sake 
of her honor or your own. From to-morrow we will 
keep a watch on her.” 


TREACHERY. 


99 


Nantas promised to reward tlie old maid for her ser- 
vices. She pretended to be angry at first, but she had 
the adroitness to make him fix a sum, and it was agreed 
that he should give her ten thousand francs upon her 
furnishing him with a formal proof of his wife’s good or 
bad conduct. Little by little they had come to call 
things by their proper names. 

From that time forward Nantas was less uneasy. 
Three months passed, and he was engaged upon a great 
task — the preparation of the Budget. With the Em- 
peror’s sanction he had introduced some important mod- 
ifications into the financial system. He knew that he 
would be fiercely attacked in the Chamber, and he had 
to prepare a large quantity of documents. Frequently 
he sat up all night, and this hard work deadened him, 
as it were, and made him patient. Whenever he saw 
Mademoiselle Chuin he questioned her briefly. Did she 
know anything? Had his wife made many visits? 
Had she stopped long at certain houses ? Mademoiselle 
Chuin kept a journal of the slightest facts, but so far she 
had not succeeded in making any important discovery. 
Nantas felt reassured, whilst the old woman occasionally 
blinked her eyes, saying that she should, perhaps, have 
some news for him soon. 

The truth was that Mademoiselle Chuin had indulged 
in further reflection. Ten thousand francs was not 
enough ; she needed twenty thousand to purchase the 
notary’s house. She at first thought of selling herself to 
the wife, after having sold herself to the husband. But 
she knew Flavie, and she was fearful of being dismissed 
at the first word. For a long time past, before she had 


100 


TREACHERY. 


even been charged with this matter, she bad kept watch 
over Madame Nantas on her own account, remarking to 
berself that the servant’s profits lie in the masters’ or 
mistresses’ vices. However, she had discovered that she 
had to deal with a virtue which was all the more rigid 
since it was based upon pride. One effect of Flavie^s 
sin had been that it had inspired her with a hatred of 
men. So Mademoiselle Chuin was in despair, when one 
day she met Monsieur des Fondettes in the street. He 
questioned her so eagerly about her mistress that she 
plainly realized that he was anxious to see her again, 
fi’hereupon she made up her mind : she would serve both 
the admirer and the husband — a combination worthy 
of a genius. 

Everything favored her. Monsieur des Fondettes, 
having been repulsed by Flavie and thereby driven to 
despair, would have given his fortune to renew the ac- 
quaintance, and it was he who first sounded Mademoi- 
selle Chuin. He met her again, affected sentiment, and 
swore that he would kill himself if she did not help him. 
At the end of a week’s time, after a great outlay of sen- 
sibility on the one side and of scruples on the other, the 
matter was settled ; he was to give her ten thousand 
francs, and she was to conceal him one evening in Fla- 
vie’s apartments. 

The arrangement having been arrived at, Mademoi- 
selle Chuin sought Nantas. 

“What have you learned?” he asked, turning pale. 

She would not say anything definite at first. She 
merely remarked that her mistress was certainly carry- 
ing on a flirtation and that she even made appointments. 


TREACHERY. 


101 


The facts, the facts I ’• hissed Nantas, furiously im- 
patient. 

At last she mentioned Monsieur des Fondettes’ name. 

Tliis evening he will be in her private apartments.’* 

“ Very good — thank you,” stammered Nantas. And 
he sent her off with a wave of the hand ; he was afraid 
of giving way before her. 

Tliis abrupt dismissal astonished and delighted the 
old woman, for she had prepared herself for a long cross- 
examination, and had even arranged her answers, so as 
not to contradict herself. She made a bow, and then 
retired, putting on a mournful face. 

Nantas had risen. As soon as he was alone he said 
aloud : 

“ This evening, in her private rooms.” 

Then he carried his hands to his head, as if he feared 
it would burst. This appointment under his own roof 
seemed to him monstrously impudent. He could not 
allow himself to be insulted in that fashion. He clenched 
his fists, and his rage made him think of murder. And 
yet he had his task to finish — those budgetary documents 
to complete. Three times he sat down at his table, 
three times a heaving of his whole body raised him to 
his feet again; whilst, behind him, something seemed to 
be urging him to go at once to his wife and denounce 
her. At last, however, he conquered himself, and re- 
sumed his work, swearing that he would strangle them 
both that very evening. It was the greatest victory 
that he had ever won over his feelings. 

That same afternoon Nantas went to submit to the 
Emperor the definite plan of his Budget. The sovereign, 


102 


TREACHEEY. 


having raised certain objections, he discussed them with 
perfect clearness. But it became necessary that he should 
modify an important part of his programme — a difficult 
matter, as the debate was to take place on the next 
day. 

“ I will pass the night over it,” he said. 

And on his way home he thought, “ I’ll kill them at 
midnight, and I shall have the whole night afterwards 
to finish this task.” 

At dinner that evening Baron Danvilliers began talk- 
ing about the Budget, which was making some little 
stir. He did not approve of all his son-in-law’s views 
on financial matters, but he admitted that they were 
very broad and very remarkable. Whilst Nantas was 
replying to the baron, he fancied, on several occasions, 
that he noticed his wife’s eyes fixed upon him. She 
frequently looked at him in this way now. Her glance 
was not softened, however; she simply listened, and 
seemed to be trying to read his thoughts. Nantas fancied 
that she feared she was betrayed. Accordingly he made 
an efibrt to appear careless ; he talked a good deal, 
affected to be veiy animated, and finally overcame the 
objections of his father-in-law, who gave way to his 
great intellect. Flavie was still looking at him, and 
suddenly a hardly perceptible glimpse of tenderness 
darted across her face. 

Nantas worked in his study until midnight. Little 
by little he had become absorbed in his task, and soon 
he lost consciousness of everything save this creation of 
his brain, this financial scheme which he had painfully 
constructed, piece by piece, in the midst of innumerable 


TREACHERY. 


103 


obstacles. When the clock struck twelve he instinct- 
ively raised his head. Deep silence reigned in the 
house. Suddenly he recollected everything ; treachery 
was lurking in this silent darkness. But it was a trial 
for him to leave his seat ; he laid his pen down regret- 
fully, and took a few steps as if in obedience to a will 
which had forsaken him. Then his face flushed, and 
a flame blazed in his eyes. He started for his wife’s 
room. 

That evening Flavie had dismissed her maid early, 
saying that she wished to be alone. Until midnight she 
remained in the little boudoir which adjoined her bed- 
room. Stretched on a sofa, she had taken up a book ; 
but at every instant this book fell from her hands, and, 
closing her eyes, she became absorbed in thought. Her 
face still wore a softened expression, and a faint smile 
played upon it at intervals. Suddenly she started up. 
There was a knock outside. 

“ Who is there ? ” she asked. 

Open the door,” replied Nantas. 

She was so surprised that she opened it mechanically. 
Never before had her husband presented himself in this 
way. He entered the room half- distracted ; his rage 
had mastered him while he ascended the stairs. Made- 
moiselle Chuin, who was watching for him on the land- 
ing, had just told him that Monsieur des Fondettes had 
been there for some hours. Accordingly he was deter- 
mined to show his wife no mercy. 

“There is a man concealed in your bed-room,” said he. 

Flavie did not reply at first, so greatly did these words 
sui'prise her. At last she grasped their meaning. 


104 


TREACHERY. 


“You are mad, sir,” she answered. 

Bat, without stopping to argue, he was already on his 
way to the bed-room. Then, with one bound, she threw 
herself before the door, crying : 

“You shall not go in! These are my rooms, and I 
forbid you to enter them 1 ” 

Quivering with passion and looking taller in her pride, 
she guarded the door. For a moment they stood thus, 
motionless, speechless, gazing into one another’s eyes. 
Nantas, his head bent forward, his arms expanded, 
W'as about to throw himself upon her to force a pas- 
sage. 

“Come away from that door,’^ he said, in a hoarse 
whisper. “I’m stronger than you, and go in I will!” 

“You shall not go in ; I will not permit it.” 

Almost beside himself, Nantas could only keep re- 
peating : 

“There is a man there, there is a man there!” 

Flavie, not even deigning to deny it, shrugged her 
shoulders. Then, as her husband took another step for- 
ward, she cried: 

“And supposing that there is a man there, what dif- 
ference does that make to you? Am I not free?” 

He recoiled at these words, which struck him like a 
blow. It was quite true, she was free. A cold shudder 
ran through him, lie plainly realized that she had the 
best of the argument, and that he was playing the part 
of a feeble and illogical child. He was not observing 
the compact; his foolish passion had made it hateful to 
him. Why had he not remained at work in his study? 
The blood fled from his cheeks, and an indefinable look 


TREACHERY. 


105 


of suffering overspread liis face. When Flavie saw his 
pitiable condition she left the door, whilst a tender gleam 
came into her eyes. 

“Look/’ she said, simply. 

And then she passed into tlie bed-room herself, carry- 
ing a lamp in her band, whilst Nantas remained standing 
at the door. He had made her a sign as if to say that it 
was sufficient, that he did not wish to enter. But it was 
she who insisted now. When she had drawn aside tbe 
curtains, and Monsieur des Fondettes appeared con- 
cealed behind them, so intense was her amazement that 
she uttered a cry of horror. 

“It was true,” she stammered, “it was true this 
man was here ; but I did not know it. On my life I 
swear it!” 

Then, with an effort, she calmed herself, and even 
seemed to regret the impulse which had led her to 
defend herself. 

“You were right, sir, and I crave your pardon,” she 
said to Nantas, endeavoring to speak in her usual tone 
of voice. 

Monsieur des Fondettes, however, felt somewhat fool- 
ish, and would have given a good deal if the husband 
had only flown into a passion. But Nantas remained 
silent. He had simply turned very pale. When he 
had carried his eyes from Monsieur des Fondettes to 
Flavie, he bowed to the latter, merely saying: 

“ Excuse me, madame, you are free,” 

Then he turned and walked away. Something seemed 
broken within him ; merely the machinery of muscle 
and bone still worked. When he reached his study 


106 


WON AT LAST, 


again he walked straight to a drawer where he kept 
a revolver. Having examined the weapon, he said 
aloud, as if making a formal engagement with himself: 
“That suffices; I will kill myself presently I” 

He turned up his lamp, sat down at his table, and 
quietly resumed his work. Amid the deep silence he 
completed without an instant’s hesitation a sentence 
that he had left unfinished. One by one fresh sheets of 
paper swelled the heap. Two hours later, when Flavie, 
who had driven Monsieur des Fondettes away, came 
down with bare feet to listen at the door, she only 
heard the sound of her husband’s pen scratching the 
paper. She bent down and applied her eye to the key- 
hole. Nantas was still calmly writing, his face was 
expressive of peace and satisfaction at his work ; but a 
ray of the lamp fell upon the barrel of the revolver at 
his side. 

— : 0 : 

CHAPTEE Y. 

WON AT LAST. 

T he house adjoining the garden of the mansion was 
now the property of Nantas, who had bought it 
from his father-in-law. Out of caprice he refrained from 
letting the miserable garret where he had struggled 
against want for two months after his arrival in Paris. 
Since he had acquired an enormous fortune he had on 
more than one occasion felt impelled to go and shut 


WON AT LAST. 


107 


himself up in the little room for several hours. It was 
there that he had suffered, and it was there that he liked 
to enjoy his triumph. Again, whenever he met with 
any obstacle he was wont to go there to reflect and to 
form great resolutions. Once there he again became 
what he had formerly been. And now, when the hand 
of death was upon him, it was in this attic that he deter- 
mined to meet it. 

Nantas did not finish his work until eight o’clock in 
the morning. Fearing that fatigue might overcome 
him, he took a cold bath. Then he summoned several 
of his clerks for the purpose of giving them instructions. 
When his secretary arrived he had an interview with 
him, and the secretary received orders to take the plan 
of the Budget to the Tuileries, and to furnish certain 
explanations if the Emperor raised any fresh objections. 
After this, Nantas considered that he had done enough. 
He had left everything in order; he was not going off 
like a demented bankrupt. After all, he was his own 
property; he could dispose of himself. 

Nine o’clock struck. The time had come. But, as 
he was leaving his study, taking the revolver with him, 
he had to suffer a final humiliation. Mademoiselle 
Cl min presented herself to claim the ten thousand francs 
which he had promised her. He paid her, and was 
forced to put up with her familiarity. She assumed a 
maternal air, and seemed to treat him as a successful 
pupil. Even if he had had any hesitation left, this 
shameful complicity would have confirmed him in his 
intention. He sought the garret quickly, and in his 
haste he left the door unlocked. 


108 


WON AT LAST. 


Nothing was changed there. The paper had the same 
rents; the bed, the table and the chair were still there, 
with their same old look of poverty. For a moment he 
breathed this air which reminded him of his former 
struggles. Then he approached the window and caught 
sight of the same glimpse of Paris; the trees in the 
garden, the Seine, the quays, and a part of the right 
bank of the river, where the houses rose up in confused 
masses until lost to sight at the point where the Pere- 
Lachaise cemetery appeared in the far distance. 

The revolver was lying within his reach on the rick- 
ety table. There was no hurry now; he felt certain 
that no one would disturb him, and that he could kill 
himself whenever he pleased. He became absorbed in 
thought, and he reflected that he was now at the same 
point as formerly — led back to the same spot, with the 
same intention of suicide. One evening before, in this 
very room, he had determined to dash his brains out. 
In those days he had been too poor to purchase a pistol; 
he had had only the stones in the streets at his disposal, 
but death was awaiting him now as then. So in this 
world death is the only thing Avhich never fails, which is 
always sure and always ready. Nothing that he knew 
of was like death ; he sought in vain, all else had given 
way beneath him : death alone remained a certainty. 
He regretted that he had lived ten years too long. The 
experience that he had acquired of life, in his ascent to 
fortune and power, seemed to him puerile. Why this 
expenditure of will, to what purpose this waste of force, 
since will and force were not everything? One passion 
had sufficed to destroy him : he had foolishly allowed 


WON AT LAST. 


109 


himself to love Flavie,'and now the edifice, which he 
had built up, was cracking, collapsing like a mere house 
of cards swept away by the breath of a child. It was 
lamentable — it resembled the punishment of » maraud- 
ing schoolboy, under whom a branch snaps, and who 
perishes there where he had sinned. Life was a mis- 
take; the best men ended it as tamely as the fools. 

Nantas had taken the revolver from the table, and 
was slowly loading it. At this supreme moment one 
last regret made him hesitate for a second. What great 
things he would have realized if Flavie had understood 
him I On the day when she had thrown herself on his 
neck, saying, “ I love you! ” on that day he could have 
found a lever to move the world I And his last thought 
was one of disdain for force ; since force had not been 
able to give him Flavie. 

He raised the revolver. The morning was a glorious 
one. Through the open window the sun poured in, giv- 
ing even a look of brightness to the wretched garret. 
In the distance, Paris was awakening to its giant life. 
Nantas pressed the barrel to his temple. 

But the door was suddenly flung open, and Flavie 
entered. With one movement she dashed the weapon 
aside, and the bullet lodged itself in the ceiling. They 
looked at one another. She was so out of breath, so 
choked with emotion, that she could not speak. At 
last, embracing Nantas for the first time, she uttered the 
only words which could have determined him to live. 

“ I love you 1 ’’ she cried, sobbing on his breast, and 
tearing the avowal from her pride, her mastered being. 

I love you because of your strong mind 1 ” 


NAIS, THE BRUNETTE. 

BY BMILE ZOLA. 

CHAPTER I. 

FREDERIC. 

D uring the fruit season a brown-skinned little 
girl with bushy black hair used to come every 
inoiith to the house of Monsieur Rostand, a lawyer of Aix, 
bringing an enormous basket of apricots or peaches, so 
heavy that she had hardly strength enough to carry it. 
She would wait in the large entrance hall, whither all 
the family came to greet her. 

“So it’s you, Nais,” the lawyer would say. “You’ve 
brought us some fruit, eh ? Come, you’re a good girl. 
And how is your father?” 

“ Quite well, sir,” replied the little girl. 

Then Madame Rostand would take her into the 
kitchen and ask her about the olives, the almonds and 
the vines. But the most important question was whether 
there had been any rain at L’Estaque, where the Ros- 
tands’ estate was situated, a place called La Blancarde, 
which was cultivated by the Micoulins. There were but 
a few dozen almond and olive trees, but the question of 
rain was none the less an important one in this province 
where everything perishes from drought. 

( 110 ) 


FREDERIC. 


Ill 


“There have been a few drops,’’ Nais would say. 
“ The vines want more.” 

Then, having imparted her news, she ate a piece of 
bread and some scraps of meat, and set out again for 
L’Estaque in a butcher’s cart which came to Aix every 
fortnight. Frequeutly she brought some shell-fish, a 
lobster, a fine eel, for Micoulin fished more than he 
tilled the ground. When she came during the holidays, 
Frederic, the lawyer’s son, used to rush into the kitchen 
to tell her that the family would soon take up their 
quarters at La Blancarde, and that she must get some 
nets and lines ready. lie was almost like a brother to 
her, for they had played together as children. Since the 
age of twelve, however, she had called him “Monsieur 
Frederic,” out of respect. Every time old Micoulin 
heard her speak familiarly to the young man he boxed 
her ears, but in spite of this the two children were 
sworn allies. 

“ Don’t forget to mend the nets,” repeated the school- 
boy. 

“ No fear, Monsieur Frdd^iric,” replied Na’is. “They’ll 
be ready for you.” 

Monsieur Eostand was very wealthy. He had bought 
a splendid mansion in the Eue du College at a very low 
price. The Hotel de Coiron, built during the latter part 
of the Seventeenth Century, had twelve windows in its 
frontage, and contained enough rooms to house a religious 
order. Amid these vast rooms the family, consisting of 
five persons including the two old servants, seemed lost. 
The lawyer occupied merely the first floor. For ten 
years he had tried, without success, to let the ground and 


112 


FREDERIC. 


second floors, and finally he had decided to lock them 
np, thus abandoning two-thirds of the house to the 
spiders. Echoes like those of a cathedral resounded 
through the empty, sonorous mansion at the least noise 
in the entrance hall, an enormous hall with a staircase 
from which one could easily have obtained sufficient 
material to build a modern house. 

Immediately after his purchase. Monsieur Eostand had 
divided the grand drawing-room into two offices, by 
means of a partition. It was a room of thirty-six feet 
by twenty-four, lighted by six windows. Of one of the 
two parts he had formed his own private room, the other 
being allotted to his clerks. The first floor contained 
four other apartments, the smallest of which measured 
twenty feet by fifteen. Madame Eostand, Frederic and 
the two old servants had bed-rooms as lofty as churches. 
The lawyer had been forced, for convenience’s sake, to 
convert an old boudoir into a kitchen ; for at an earlier 
stage, when they had made use of the kitchen on the 
ground floor, the food had come to table quite cold, after 
passing through the chilly atmosphere ot* the entrance 
hall and staircase. To make matters worse, these 
gigantic apartments were furnished in the most sparing 
manner. In the lawyer’s private room an ancient suite 
of furniture, upholstered in green Utrecht velvet, and 
of the stiff and comfortless-looking Empire style, did its 
best to fill up the space, with its sofa and eight chairs ; 
a little round table, belonging to the same period, looked 
like a toy in this immensity ; on the chimney-piece there 
was nothing beyond a horrible modern marble clock 
between two vases, whilst the tiled floor, looking much 


FREDERIC. 


118 


the worse for age, showed a dirty red. The bed- rooms 
were more empty still. The whole house brought home 
to one the tranquil disdain which southern families — 
even the richest of them — display for comfort and 
luxury, in this happy land of the sun, where life is 
mainly spent out-of-doors. The Eostands were cer- 
tainly not conscious of the melancholy, mortal chilli- 
ness brooding over these huge rooms, and mainly due 
to the scantiness and poverty-stricken aspect of the 
furniture. 

Yet the law3"cr was a shrewd man. His father had 
left him one of the best practices in Aix, and he had 
managed to improve it considerably by displaying 
an amount of activity rare in that land of indolencp. 
Small, brisk, weasel-faced, his sole thought was of his 
work. No other matters troubled his brain ; he nevef 
even looked at a paper during the rare hours of idleness 
passed at his club. His wife, on the contrary, had thp 
reputation of being one of the cleverest and most acepfp- 
plished women in the town. She was a Pe Villebonne, 
a fact which invested her with a certain amount pf dig- 
nity, in spite of her mesalliance. But she was straight- 
laced to such a point, she practiced her religious duties 
with such bigoted obstinacy, that she had, as it were, 
become shrivelled up by the methodical life she led. 

As for Frederic, he grew up between this busy father 
and rigid mother. During his sclioplbpy days, he was a 
dunce of the first water, trembling before his mother, but 
having such a distaste for work that he would often sit 
in the drawing-room during the eyening poring for hours 
over his books witjiout reading a single line, his mind 
7 


114 


FREDERIC. 


wandering, whilst his parents imagined from ti e look of 
him that he was preparing his lessons. Irritated by his 
laziness, they put him to board at the college, but he 
tlien worked less than ever, being less looked after than 
at home, and delighted to feel that he was no longer 
under his parents’ stern eyes. Accordingly, alarmed by 
the airs of liberty which he put on, they took him away, 
in order to have him under their ferule again. So nar- 
rowly did they look after him, that he was forced 1o 
work; his mother examined his exercises, made him 
repeat his lessons, and mounted guard over him unremit- 
tingly like a gendarme. Thanks to tliis supervision, 
Frdddric failed but twice in passing the examination for 
his degree. 

Aix is celebrated for its law school, and j^oung 
Kostand was naturally sent to it. In this ancient town 
the population is largely composed of barristers, notaries, 
and solicitors practising at the Appeal Court. A youth 
takes a law degree as a matter of course, following it up 
or not as he pleases. So Frederic remained at the col- 
lege, working as little as possible, simply trying to make 
his parents believe that he was working a great deal. 
Madame Eostand, to her great sorrow, had been forced 
to give him more liberty. He now went out when he 
chose in the dajdime, and was only expected to be at 
home to meals. He had, however, to be in by nine 
o’clock in the evening, except on those days when he 
was allowed to go to the theatre. Thus begun that 
country student’s life, so full of vice when it is not 
entirely devoted to work. 

A person must know Aix, be acquainted with the 


FREDERIC. 


115 


quiet grass-grown streets, the state of torpor which 
enwraps the whole town, in order to understand the pur- 
poseless life which the students lead there. Those who 
work can manage to kill time over their books, but 
those who refuse to exert themselves steadily have no 
other places where they can while away their leisure 
save the cafes, where people gamble, or certain other 
resorts. Thus Frdderic soon became an inveterate 
gambler ; he passed the greater part of his evenings 
at cards, and finished them elsewhere. When he found 
his evenings too short for him he managed, by steal- 
ing a key of the house door, to have all night as well. 
In this way his years of probation passed pleasantly 
enough. 

Frederic had sense enough to see that he must play 
the part of a tractable son. The hypocrisy of a child 
curbed by fear had little by little grown upon him. His 
mother now declared herself satisfied ; he took her to 
church, conducted himself most properly, told her, with 
the greatest calmness, the most unheard of lies, which 
she took in, owing to his air of candor. And so clever 
did he become in this respect that he never allowed him- 
self to be outwitted, being always ready with an excuse, 
always prepared in advance with the most extraordi- 
nary stories in support of his arguments. He paid his 
gaming debts with money borrowed from his cousins, 
and his pecuniary transactions would have filled a book. 
Once, after an unhoped-for stroke of good luck, he real- 
ized the dream of spending a week in Paris, getting him- 
self invited by a friend who had a little estate near the 
Durance. 


116 


FRKDiRIO. 


Fr^d^ric was a fine young fellow, tall, with regular 
features, and a black beard. Ilis accomplishments made 
him good company, especially with ladies. lie was 
quoted for his good manners. Those who knew his 
goings on smiled a little, but, as he had the decency to 
throw a veil over this side of his life, he came in for a 
certain amount of credit for not making an exhibition 
of his excesses, like other students who were the scandal 
of the town. 

Frederic was nearly twenty-one, and was soon to pa.ss 
his last examination. His father, who was still young 
and not inclined as yet to hand his practice over to him, 
talked of making him enter the magistrature to begin 
with. He had friends in Paris to whom he could apply 
to get him an appointment as public prosecutor’s 
assessor. The young man raised no objection; for he 
never openly opposed his parents; but a certain expres- 
sive smile on his face betokened his firm determination 
to prolong the pleasant existence which suited him so 
well. He knew that his father was rich, that he was his 
only son, so why should he trouble himself? In the 
meantime he smoked his cigar on the Promenade, 
gambled in the neighboring cafds, and dallied on the sly 
with various damsels, though all this did not prevent 
him from holding himself at his mother’s orcters, and 
loading her with attentions. At times when he felt 
out of sorts he went home to the huge, gloomy mansion 
in the Rue du College, and enjoyed a delicious period of 
repose. The emptiness of the rooms, the sense of con- 
straint perceptible on every side, seemed to him to 
possess a soothing influence. There he collected himself 


FREDERIC. 


117 


afresli, makiiag his mother believe that he was stopping 
at home for her sake, until the day when, health and 
appetite having returned, he devised some fresh esca- 
pade. In one word, he was the best fellow in the world, 
so long as his pleasures were not interfered Avith. 

Every year, however, Nais came to the Rostands’ 
with her fish and fruit, and every year she grew. She 
Avas of the same age as Frederic, or, to be correct, she 
Avas just three months older. Madame Rostand Avould 
often say to her : 

“What a big girl you are groAving, Nai’s! ” 

And Nais Avould smile, shoAving her Avhite teeth. As 
a rule, Frederic Avas not there : but one day, during the 
last yenr of his probation, he Avas going out, Avhen he 
found Nais standing in the hall Avith her basket. lie 
stopped short in astonishment. lie did not recognize 
the girl, though he had seen her only the year before at 
La Blancarde. Nais Avas looking superb, Avith her dark 
face and her head with its swarthy covering of thick 
black hair ; her broad shoulders, her supple Avaist, and 
her magnificent arms, of Avhich the bare Avrists Avere 
exposed. In a year she had grown like a young tree. 

“You ! ” said he, in a hesitating voice. 

“Yes, Monsieur Frederic,” replied FTais, looking him 
in the face Avith her big eyes, in Avhich a sombre fire 
smouldered. “I’ve brought some sea-urchins. When 
are you coming? Shall I get the nets ready?” 

He was Avas still looking at her, and muttering, as if 
he had not heard her speaking: 

“ How handsome you are, Na'is I What is there in 
you?” 


118 


FREDflRIC AND NAIs. 


The compliment made her smile. Then, as he took 
her hands playfully, as he had done in the days gone by, 
she became serious, and said in a hoarse whisper : 

“No, no; not here. Take care! here comes your 
mother.'* 


: o : 

CHAPTER II. 

FREDERIC AND NAIS. 

A FORTNIGHT later the Rostand family started for 
La Blancarde. The lawyer had to wait for the 
vacation, and September was a charming month at the 
seaside. The great heat was past, and the nights were 
deliciously cool. 

La Blancarde was not actually in L’Estaque, a village 
situated on the extreme outskirts of Marseilles, and 
nestling among the rocks which bound the bay. The 
house was built on a cliff overlooking the village, and 
its yellow walls, glistening amongst the pines, could be 
seen from any part of the bay. It was one of those 
heavy, square buildings, pierced with irregular windows, 
and called “chateaux’* in Provence. In front of the 
house a broad terrace extended, rising almost perpen- 
dicularly above the pebbly beach. Behind, there was a 
vast enclosure of poor land, upon which nothing but a 
few vines, almond or olive trees, would grow. One of 
the inconveniences, indeed, one of the dangers, of La 
Blancarde, was the fact tliat the sea was gradually eat- 


FREDERIC AND NAIS. 


119 


ing away the cliff; infiltrations, proceeding from neigh- 
boring springs, were constantly at work in this soften- 
ing mountain of clay and rock ; and every year enor- 
mous masses fell away, being precipitated with a deafen- 
ing crash into the sea. The property was becoming 
smaller and smaller ; the pines had already begun to fall. 

The Micoulins had been settled at La Blancarde for 
forty years. According to the Provencal custom, they 
cultivated the land and shared the crops mth the land- 
lord. These crops were scanty, and they would have 
died of hunger if, during the summer, they had not 
turned their attention to the sea. Between tilling and 
sowing, there came an interval of fishing. The family 
consisted of Micoulin, a stern old man, with a black and 
seamy face, before whom the others trembled ; of his 
wife, a tall woman, whose intellect was dulled by hard 
toil in the blazing sun ; of a son, who at that time was 
serving on board the Arrogant man-of-war ; and of Nai's, 
whom her father, in spite of her numerous tasks at home, 
sent to work at a tile manufactory. Rarely did the 
sound of a laugh or a song enliven the tenants’ dwelling, 
a hovel built against one of the sides of La Blancarde. 
Micoulin, buried in his reflections, preserved a gloomy 
silence. The two women exhibited towards him that 
cringing respect which southern wives and daughters 
always display for the head of the family. It was not 
often that silence was broken, except by the mother s 
furious calls, as she stood with her hands on her hips, 
her throat ready to burst, shouting out the name of Nais 
whenever her daughter disappeared. Nais heard her a 
mile away, and returned home pale with stifled anger. 


120 


FREDERIC AND NAIS. 


The handsome Nais, as they called lier at L’Estaque, 
was by no means happy. At the age of sixteen, Miccu- 
lin, on the slightest provocation, would strike her so 
roughly in the face as to make the blood fly from her 
nose ; and even now, in spite of her twenty years, her 
bruised shouldei s bore the marks of her father’s brutality 
lor weeks together. Not that he was cruel ; he simply 
exercised a rigorous rule, insisting on implicit obedience, 
having in his blood the old Eornan feeling of authority 
over his own family — the authority of life and death. 
One day Nais, on being unmercifully thrashed, dared to 
raise her hand to defend herself, and her father came near 
killing her. After a correction of this kind, the girl 
would throw herself trembling into a dark corner, and, 
with dry eyes, brood over the insult. Black rage would 
hold her there mute for hours together, gloating over 
revenge, which lay beyond her power. It was her 
father’s blood which rose within her — his blind passion, 
his furious determination to be the master. When she 
saw her trembling and submissive mother humble her- 
self before Micoulin, she looked at her with scorn. She 
would often say, “ If I’d a husband like that, I’d kill 
him.” 

And yet Nais preferred those days when she was 
beaten, for this violence was a diversion. At other 
times she led such a dreary, monotonous life that it 
almost killed her. Her father forbade her to go down 
to L’Estaqiie, keeping her constantly at work at home ; 
even when she had nothing to do, it was his will that 
she should stay there beneath his eye. Accordingly, she 
looked forward impatiently to September; for as soon 


FK^DERIC AND NAIS. 


121 


as the family took up their quarters at La Blancarde, 
Micoulin’s surveillance necessarily became less strict, 
and Nai's, who was wont to run errands for Madame 
Eostand, was only too glad to make up for her year’s 
imprisonment. 

One day the idea struck old Micoulin that this big 
girl might bring him in a franc or two a day. So he 
emancipated her, and sent her to work at a tile manu- 
factory. Although the labor was severe, Nais felt 
delighted. She left home early, proceeded to the other 
side of L’Estaque, and remained until evening in the hot 
sun, turning over the tiles set out to dry. Sad work it 
made with her hands, but she was freed from her father, 
and she used to joke with the boys. Here it was, in the 
midst of this rude toil, that she filled out and became a 
handsome woman. The blazing sun tinted her face and 
decked her neck with a ring of amber ; her black hair 
grew and enveloped her, as if to protect her with its 
flying tresses ; her body, continually on the move dur- 
ing the jjrogress of her work, acquired the supple vigor 
of a young warrior’s frame. When she stood up on the 
beaten ground at her full height amid the ruddy tiles, 
she looked like some Amazon, like a statue suddenly 
imbued with life by the rain of fire falling from the sky. 
]\[icoulin glowered on her with his little eyes at seeing 
her so fair. She laughed too much ; it did not seem to 
him natural that a girl should be so happy. And he 
swore to himself to throttle all lovers, should any ever 
venture to dangle about her petticoats I 

Lovers! Nai's might have had them by the dozen, 
but she gave them no encouragement. She tossed her 


122 


FREDERIC AND NAIS. 


bead at all the youths. Her only friend was a bump- 
back who was employed at the same manufactory as 
herself — a little fellow called Toine, whom the Found- 
ling Hospital of Aix bad sent to L’Estaque, and who bad 
remained there, adopted, so to say, by the district. This 
humpback had a ringing laugh, and a comical profile. 
Na'is found an attraction in bis gentleness. She did 
what she liked with him, and often tormented him when 
she felt inclined to take vengeance on some one for her 
father’s violence towards herself. All this, however, had 
no further consequences. People used to make sport of 
Toine, and Micoulin himself said : “ She’s welcome to 

Toine; I know her, she’s too proud.” 

That year, when Madame Eostand came to La B4an- 
carde, she asked Micoulin to lend her Nais, one of her 
servants being ill. Work was slack just then at the 
manufactory, and, moreover, Micoulin, although brutal 
enough towards his own family, was politeness itself 
mth his masters; be would not have refused, even if the 
request had been against his wishes. Monsieur Eostand 
had just then been forced to go to Paris on sudden and 
important business, and Frederic was left alone with 
bis mother. 

As a rule, on his arrival the young man was mad after 
outdoor exercise, and, intoxicated by the seaside air, he 
would go with Micoulin to set or draw up the nets; or 
take long walks with hTai's in the gorges which abound 
in the neighborhood of L’Estaque. Then his ardor 
cooled down, and he remained for whole days lying 
under the pines on the edge of the terrace, half-asleep 
and gazing at the sea, of which the monotonous azure 


FREDERIC AND NAIS. 


123 


finally palled upon him. As a rule, he had had enough 
of La Blancarde at the end of a fortnight, and was wont 
to invent some excuse to slip off* to Marseilles. 

That year, on the day after their arrival, Micoulin 
called Frederic at sunrise. He was going to take up the 
traps, the long baskets with a narrow opening, in which 
deep water fishes are caught. But the young man 
turned a deaf ear to him. Fishing appeared to have 
lost its attraction, for when he got up he threw himself 
on his back under the pines, and fixed his eyes on the 
sky. Ilis mother was astonished not to see him set off* 
for one of the long walks from which he usually returned 
as hungry as a wolf. 

“You are not going out? ” she asked. 

“ No, mother,’’ he replied. “ I shall stop with you, as 
father is not here.” 

Micoulin, who heard this, muttered in his dialect: 

“ It won’t be long before Monsieur Frederic’s off to 
Marseilles.” 

But Frederic did not go to Marseilles. The w^eek 
passed by and found him still stretched on his back, 
simply changing his position, whenever the sun’s rays fell 
on him. For appearance’s sake he had taken a book, 
but* it was little he read; the greater part of the time 
the book remained lying on the dry pine-spikes. The 
young man did not even look at the sea ; with his face 
turned towards the house, he appeared to be interested in 
the domestic arrangements, in watching the servants go 
backwards and forwards, crossing the terrace at every 
moment; and whenever it was Nais who happened to 
pass him, a flash shot from his delighted eyes. But Nais, 


124 


FREDEBIC AND NAYS. 


although she would slacken her pace, and move off with 
tlie rhythmical sway of her body, never cast a look 
behind her. 

For several days tliis comedy went on. In his moth- 
er’s presence Frederic treated Na'is almost roughly, as 
if she had been some awkward servant. Then the 
young girl would cast her eyes down in pleased bash- 
fulness, as if enjoying the harsh words. 

One morning at breakfast she broke a salad bowl, and 
Frederic flew into a rage. 

“How clumsy she is!” he cried. “Wherever is her 
head?” 

And he jumped up furiously, saying that his trousers 
were spoiledf A drop of oil had stained his knee, and 
sufficed to make him raise the house. 

“What are you staring at? Give me a napkin and 
some water. Come and help me,” he said to the girl. 

Nais dipped the corner of a napkin in some water, 
and went down on her knees in front of Frederic to rub 
the spot. 

“Don’t bother,” said Madame Kostand. “That will 
do no good.” 

But the girl did not let go of her master’s leg, which 
she continued to rub with all the strength of her shapely 
arms, whilst he continued to scold her. 

“I never saw such clumsiness. She must have brought 
it close to me on purpose to smash it. If she waited on 
us at Aix our china would soon be all in pieces,” he 
grumbled. 

These reproaches were so out of proportion to the 
gravity of the offence, that Madame Kostand thought 


FREDERIC AND NAYs. 


125 


proper to try and appease her son as soon as Nais 
had gone. 

‘‘ What have you against the poor girl? One would 
think that you could not endure her. Be more gentle 
with her. She is an old playmate of yours, and she is 
not in the position of an ordinary servant here.’’ 

“ Oh, she’s a nuisance I ” replied Frederic, affecting a 
rough manner. 

That evening at dusk, however, Nais and Fr^d^ric 
met in a shady spot at the end of tlie terrace. They 
had not yet spoken to one another alone. No one could 
hear them from the house. The pines filled the still 
air with a warm resinous odor. Then Nais asked in a 
whisper, in the familiar way of their childhood : 

“Why did you scold me so, Frederic? You were 
unkind.” 

Without replying he seized her hands, drew her to his 
breast, and kissed her lips. She let him have his way, 
and then went off, whilst he sat down on the parapet, in 
order not to appear before his mother in his present 
excited state. Ten minutes afterwards the girl Avas 
waiting at table with her perfect and somewhat proud 
calmness. 

Frederic and Nais made no appointments. Late one 
evening they found themselves together under an olive 
tree, near the edge of the cliff. During dinner their eyes 
had several times exchanged ardent glances. Then Nais 
had gone home, and Frederic had begun to roam about, 
possessed by a strange feeling. And, indeed, Avhen after 
awhile he came to the old olive tree, he found her there 
as if waiting for him. He sat down by her side and put 


126 


DISCOVERED. 


his arm round her waist whilst she let her head fall upon 
his shoulder. For a moment they remained silent. The 
old olive tree, with its gnarled limbs, covered them with 
a roof of gray leaves. Before them stretched the sea, 
motionless beneath the twinkling stars. Marseilles, on 
the far side of the bay, was hidden by a cloud ; on the 
left the revolving Planier light shone out every minute, 
piercing the gloom with a yellow ray which suddenly 
disappeared ; and nothing could be softer or more tender 
than this light, constantly lost on the horizon, and con- 
stantly returning. 

“ Is your father away ? ” asked Frederic. 

‘‘I got out of the window,” she said, in her quiet 
voice. 

They spoke no word of their love. That love came 
from afar, from the days of their infancy. Now they 
remembered their childish romps, and it seemed natural 
to them to glide into caresses. Day was about to appear 
when they sought their rooms again. 


:o: 

CHAPTER III. 


DISCOVERED. 


W HAT a glorious month it was ! Not one day 
of rain. The sky, invariably blue, disjdayed 
a satin sheen, unflecked by any cloud. The sun rose a 
ruddy crystal and sank in a cloud of golden dust. Yet 
it was not hot, for the sea breeze came with the sun, and 


DISCOVERED. 


127 


though it died away when he set, the nights were 
deliciously cool, and balmy with the scent of aromatic 
plants diffusing the sweetness gathered during the day. 
'fhe country is splendid. From tlie two sides of the bay 
rocky arms jut out, whilst in the distance the islands 
seem to bound the horizon. In line weather the sea 
appears to be nothing but a vast basin, a lake of an 
intense blue. In the distance, at the foot of the moun- 
tains, the houses of Marseilles climb up the low hills. 
When the atmosphere is clear one can see from L’Es- 
taque the gray Joliet te pier and tlie slender masts of the 
vessels in the port; beyond, houses peep out from 
amongst clumps of trees, and the chapel of Notre-Darne- 
de-la-Garde glitters white against the sky. The coast- 
line winds about and takes broad sweeps before reaching 
L’Estaque, where manufactories throw out intermittent 
clouds of smoke. When the sun sinks below tlie hori- 
zon, the sea, almost black, seems as if asleep between 
two rocky promontories, whose whiteness is relieved by 
tinges of yellow and brown; and the pines show their 
dark green foliage against the reddish soil beyond. It 
is a vast tableau, a glimpse of the East, disappearing 
with tlie dazzling heat of day. 

But L’Estaque has other sights besides the sea. The 
village, clinging to the mountain side, is traversed by 
roads which wind through a chaos of shattered rocks. 
The railway between Marseilles and Lyons passes amid 
these masses, crosses bridges thrown over ravines, and 
plunges under the cliffs themselves, remaining there for 
some four miles in what is called the tunnel of La 
Nerthe, the longest one in France. Nothing can equal 


128 ‘ 


DISCOVERED, 


the savage grandeur of these gorges hollowed out 
amongst the hills, these narrow paths winding along at 
the foot of precipices, these barren mountains, planted 
with pines, uprearing their ramparts tinged with rust 
and blood. Now and then a defile widens out, a field 
of struggling olive trees fills the hollow of a valle}’’, a 
lonely house shows its white frontage and closed- shut- 
ters. Then come other rugged paths, impenetrable 
thickets, overturned rocks, dried-up torrents — all the 
surprises of a desert march. Over all, above the black 
fringe of pines, the sky stretches its expanse of silky 
blue. 

Then there is the narrow line of coast between the rocks 
and the sea, the red soil pitted with immense holes, from 
which is taken the clay for tile-making, the chief indus- 
try of the district. Everywhere the ground is cracked 
and sundered, supporting with difficulty a few sickly 
trees, and seemingly parched by a breath of burning pas- 
sion. The roads are like beds of plaster, in which the 
traveller sinks to the ankles at every step, and flying 
clouds of dust powder the hedges at the least puff of wind. 
Little gray lizards sleep along the heated walls, which 
reverberate like ovens, whilst from the scorched grass 
rise whirring clouds of locusts. In the still and heavy 
air of the sleepy South there was no other sign of life 
than the grasshopper^s monotonous song. 

It was in this land of fire that Nais andFred^^ric loved 
one another during a month. It was as if all the heat 
of the sky had entered their veins. For the first week 
they were satisfied with their nightly meetings under 
the same olive tree on the edge of the cliff. There they 


DISCOVERED. 


129 


tasted untold bliss. The cool night soothed their fever; 
they held their burning cheeks and hands to the passing 
breeze, refreshing as a mountain spring. The sea broke 
with its slow and voluptuous dirge over the rocks at 
their feet; the penetrating odor of sea- weed intoxicated 
them. 

Then, leaning on one another’s arms, overcome by 
delicious weariness, they watched, across the bay, the 
lights of Marseilles, tinging the water at the mouth 
of the port with a reflection as of blood; the twinkling 
gaslights, outlining the streets in many a graceful curve ; 
while in the midst of all, above the town, it seemed as if 
there were a mass of sparkling flame. The garden on 
the Colline Bonaparte was plainly distinguishable by a 
double row of lights mounting heavenwards. These 
innumerable lights above the bosom of the slumbering 
bay appeared to be illuminating some fairy town which 
the dawn would presently sweep away. And the sky, 
stretched over the black chaos of the horizon, also had 
its charm for them, a charm which alarmed and made 
them cling closer to one another. A rain of stars fell. 
On those clear Proven§al nights the constellations resem- 
bled living flames. Shuddering beneath the vast space, 
they bowed their heads, turning their gaze on the solitary 
flicker of the Planier lighthouse, whose dancing scintilla- 
tion stirred them, whilst their lips met again in a caress. 

But one night their eyes fell on the gigantic disc of the 
moon, glaring upon them with her yellow face. On the 
sea a train of fire glittered, as if some enormous fish, 
some serpent from the depths, were trailing its endless 
folds of golden scales; and then a half-light obscured the 
8 


180 


DISCOVERED. 


glitter of Marseilles, and bathed the outlines of the gulf. 
As the moon rose the light increased, the shadows 
became more sharply defined. This heavenly witness 
was unwelcome to them. They feared they might be 
surprised if they remained so near La Blancarde. When 
they next met they left the grounds and walked into the 
shadowy open country. They found a meeting place in 
a deserted tile-field ; the ruined shed concealed a pit in 
which two ovens remained still open. But this hovel 
saddened them ; they preferred to have the open sky 
above their heads. They explored the red clay pits, 
they discovered delightful nooks, perfect little deserts^ 
whence they could hear nothing but the barking of 
watch dogs. They prolonged their walks, wandering 
along the rocky coast in the direction of Niolon, follow- 
ing the course of the narrow gorges in search of distant 
grottoes and crevasses. For a fortnight tbeir nights were 
one round of joy and love. The moon had disappeared, 
the sky had become dark again; but now it seemed to 
them as if La Blancarde was too small to hold them, as 
if they needed the limitless expanse beyond. 

One night, as thejr were following a path above 
L’Estaque in order to gain the gorges of La Nerthe, they 
fancied they heard a muffled step keeping pace with 
theirs behind a plantation of pines stretching by the side 
of the road. They stopped in alarm. 

“Do you hear that? ” asked Frederic. 

“Yes; some stray dog,” whispered NaYs. 

And they continued on their way. But, at the first 
bend in the road, after leaving the pines, they distinctly 
saw a dark object glide behind the rocks. It was cer- 


DISCOVERED. 


131 


tainly a human being, curiously shaped, looking, indeed, 
as if it were humpbacked. Nais uttered a slight excla- 
mation. 

Wait here,” she said quickly. 

And then she darted in pursuit of the shadow. Pres* 
ently Fr^d^ric heard the sound of a rapid whispering. 
She returned composed, but rather pale. 

“ What is it ? ” he asked. 

‘‘Nothing,” she replied. 

Then after a moment’s silence she continued: 

“ If you hear any steps, don’t be alarmed. It’s Toine 
— ^you know, the humpback. He wants to keep watch 
over us.” 

And in fact Frederic was occasionally conscious of 
some one following them in the darkness. It was as if 
a protecting arm were stretched over them. More than 
once Nais tried to drive Toine away; but the poor fel- 
low merely asked to be her dog : he would not be seen, 
he would not be heard, why should he not be allowed to 
do as he pleased ? From that time forward, if the lov- 
ers had listened between their caresses in the ruined tile- 
sheds, in the deserted quarries, in the depths of the 
lonely gorges, they would have caught the sound of 
smothered sobs behind them. It was Toine, their 
watch-dog, weeping in his horny hands. 

But at last the nights no longer sufficed them. They 
grew emboldened and took advantage of every oppor- 
tunity. Often in a corridor at La Blancarde, in a room 
where they chanced to meet, they exchanged a long 
caress. Even at table, when she was waiting and he 
asked for a plate or some bread he found means to clasp 


132 


DISCOVERED. 


her hand. Madame Rostand, who saw nothing, still 
blamed her son for being too severe towards his old 
playmate. One day she almost surprised them ; but 
Nai’s, hearing the rustle of her dress, quickly knelt down 
and began wiping with her handkerchief her young 
master’s feet, which were white with dust. 

Nais and Fr^eric had yet a thousand little joys. 
After dinner when the evening was cool, Madame Ros- 
tand often liked to go for a walk. She then took her 
son s arm and went down to L’Estaque, telling Nais to 
bring her shawl as a measure of precaution. They went 
all three of them to see the sardine fishers come in. 
Out at sea the lanterns danced, and soon the dark out- 
lines of the boats could be seen, nearing the beach, amid 
the muffled sound of the oars. On good days joyous 
voices would ring out, and the women would hurry 
down, laden with baskets ; while the three men who 
manned each boat set to work to empty the net, which, 
as it lay under the thwarts, looked like a broad dark rib- 
bon dotted with flashes of silver. The sardines, hanging 
by the gills to the meshes, still struggled and threw out 
a metallic lustre. Then they fell into the baskets, like a 
shower of silver pieces, amid the pale light of the lan- 
terns. Madame Rostand would often stand near a boat, 
interested by the sight, and leave her son’s arm to talk 
to the fishermen, whilst Frederic, standing at Nais’s side, 
outside the radius of light, clasped the girl’s hands in a 
burst of passion. Meantime old Micoulin preserved his 
stubborn silence. He went out fishing and came home 
to do a day’s work, with always the same deep look on 
his face. But for some time past his little gray eyes 


DISCOVERED. 


133 


had worn an uneasy expression. He threw side glances 
at Nais, without saying a word. She seemed to him 
changed, there was something about her that he could 
not quite understand. One day she ventured to argue 
with him, and then he gave her a blow which cut her 
lip. 

That evening, when Frederic saw her mouth swollen 
he questioned her anxiously. 

“It’s nothing; only a blow my father gave me,” she 
said. 

Her tone was gloomy. Then the young man became 
angry and declared that he would see into it. 

“No, never mind,” she said, “it’s my business. 
There’ll soon be an end to it.” 

She never told him of the beatings which she re- 
ceived. Only on the days when her father had treated 
her cruelly she caressed her lover with more ardor, as 
if to avenge herself on the old man. 

For three weeks Nais had left the house almost every 
night. At first she had taken the most minute precau- 
tions, then rashness seized hold of her, and she ventured 
upon everything. However, when she saw that her 
father suspected something, her prudence returned. She 
missed two appointments. Her mother had told her 
that Micoulin did not sleep at night: he got up and 
went from one door to another. But on the third day, 
seeing Frederic’s supplicating look, the girl once more 
forgot all prudence. She went out at about eleven 
o’clock, promising herself that she would not stay away 
more than an hour; and she was in hopes that her 
father, being in his first sleep, would not hear her. 


134 


DISCOVERED. 


Frdd^ric was waiting for her under the olive trees. 
Without telling her fears, she refused to go further away. 
They sat down in their usual place, looking at the sea 
and the glow of Marseilles. The Planier light was 
beaming. As Nais watched it she fell asleep on Fr^d- 
Eric’s shoulder. He did not move, and gradually yield- 
ing to fatigue himself, his own eyes closed. 

Ko sound ; only the chirp of the grasshopper. The 
sea slept like the lovers. But suddenly a dark form 
issued from the shadows and approached them. It was 
Micoulin, who, awakened by the creaking of a window, 
had missed Nais from her room. He had left the house, 
taking a small hatchet with him. When he saw a dark 
mass under the olive tree he grasped the handle of the 
implement. But the children did not stir, he was able 
to walk up to them, bend down, and look in their faces. 
A slight exclamation escaped him as he recognized his 
young master. No, no, he could not kill him thus : the 
blood spilled on the ground would leave traces behind it, 
and would cost him too dear. He stood upright, while 
a look of savage determination came over his tanned 
face. A peasant does not openly murder his master, for 
the master, even when he lies under the ground, is 
always the stronger. And so Micoulin shook his head 
and went off with stealthy strides, leaving the lovers 
asleep. 

When Nais returned to her room shortly before day- 
break, much alarmed at having stayed aAvay so long, she 
found her window just as she had left it. At breakfost 
Micoulin calmly watched her eating her piece of bread. 
She felt safe, her father knew nothing. 


MURDEROUS ATTEMPTS. 


186 


CHAPTER IV. 

MURDEROUS ATTEMPTS. 

^ ^ A REN’T you coming out fishing any more, Mon- 
.XTX. sieur Frdderic? ’’ asked Micoulin one evening. 

Madame Rostand was sitting on the terrace in the 
shade of the pines, embroidering a handkerchief, whilst 
her son, lying at her feet, was amusing himself by throw- 
ing pebbles. 

“ Not I,” replied the young man. I’m getting lazy.” 

“ You are wrong,” continued Micoulin. “ The traps 
were full of fish yesterday. You can catch as many as 
you like just now. You’d like it. Come with me 
to-morrow morning.” 

He said this so good-humoredly that Frederic, who 
thought of Nais, and did not want to fall out with the 
father, finally exclaimed : 

“Very well, then. But you’ll have to call me. I 
shall be sleeping like a log at five o’clock.” 

Madame Rostand, rather uneasy, had ceased working. 

“ Mind you are careful,” she said. “ I am always 
anxious when you are at sea.” 

Next morning Micoulin shouted to Freddric in vain,* 
the young man’s window remained closed. Upon this 
he said to his daughter, in a voice of which she did not 
notice the savage irony: 

“ You go. He’ll hear you, perhaps.” 

Thus it was Nais who woke Frederic that morning. 


136 


MURDEROUS ATTEMPTS. 


Ten minutes later tlie young man appeared, clad from 
Lead to foot in gray canvas. Old Micoulin was sitting 
on the parapet of the terrace, patiently waiting for Lim. 

‘‘ It’s cool, you’d better take a wrapper,” he said. 

Na'is went to fetch one, after which, the two men went 
down the steep steps which led to the sea, whilst the 
young girl, standing above, followed them with her eyes. 
At the bottom old Micoulin raised his head and looked 
at Nais ; there were two deep wrinkles at the corners of 
his mouth. 

For the last five days the north-east wind, the mistral, 
had been blowing. On the previous day it had fallen at 
evening, but when the sun rose it got up again, gently at 
first, j^t this early hour the sea, lashed by the sudden 
gusts, was of a deep, mottled blue; and the white-crested 
waves, illuminated by the first slanting rays, chased one 
another over the bosom of the deep. The sky was 
almost white, and clear as crystal. In the distance 
Marseilles stood out with a distinctness which enabled 
one to count the windows in the fronts of the houses, 
whilst the rocks in the gulf were bathed in a delicate 
rose-colored haze. 

“We shall have our work cut out to get back again,” 
said Fr^ddric. 

“ Very likely,” replied Micoulin, simply. 

lie plied his oars silently, without turning his head. 
The young man looked for a moment at his rounded 
back, noting his sunburnt neck and his two red ears, 
from which little rings of gold were hanging. Then he 
leaned over the side of the boat, gazing into the depths. 
The sea became rougher, and great shadowy weeds 


MURDEROUS ATTEMPTS. 


137 


floated by, looking like tufts of the hair of some drowned 
man. This saddened and even alarmed Frederic a little. 

“I say, Micoulin,” he said, after a long silence. ‘*The 
wind's getting stronger. Be careful, you know I swim 
like a lump of lead.’’ 

“Yes, yes; I know,” replied the old man, in a dry 
voice. 

Still he continued rowing, with a mechanical motion. 
The boat began to pitch, the white foam on the crests of 
the waves turned into clouds of spray, which flew before 
the wind. Frederic did not want to exhibit his alarm, 
but he felt very uncomfortable, and would have given a 
great deal to be on land again. At last he grew angry 
and cried out: 

“ Where the devil have you stuck your traps ? Are 
we bound for Algiers?” 

But old Micoulin, without seeming to trouble himself, 
again replied : 

“ We’re all right, we’re all right.” 

All at once he let go the oars, stood up in the boat, 
and looked towards the shore, as if for certain guiding 
marks ; there was still five minutes’ rowing to be accom- 
plished before they came into the midst of the cork 
buoys which showed where the traps were placed. Then, 
while Micoulin was in the act of drawing up the baskets, 
he remained for a few seconds with his face turned 
towards La Blancarde. Frederic, following the direction 
of his eyes, distinctly saw a white form under the pines. 
It was Nais, still leaning on the parapet, and distinguish- 
able from her light dress. 

“ How many traps have you ? ” asked Frederic. 


138 MURDEROUS ATTEMPTS. 

“Thirty-five; and we musn’t stop here any longer 
than we can help,” said Micoulin. 

He laid hold of the buoy nearest to him, and drew 
the first basket in. The depth was enormous, there was 
no end to the rope. At last the trap appeared, with tl^e 
large stone which had kept it at the bottom, and as soon 
as it left the water, three fish began to leap about like 
birds in a cage. It seemed as if one could hear the 
beating of wings. In the second basket there was noth- 
ing ; but in the third was found a somewhat rare capture 
— a small lobster, which flourished its tail violently. 
Frederic was all attention now, forgetting his fears, 
leaning over the side of the boat, and awaiting the 
baskets with beating heart. When he heard the sound 
of wings, he felt like a hunter who has just brought 
down his game. One by one, however, all the baskets 
were drawn into the boat, the water streaming around ; 
and soon the whole thirty-five were secured. There 
were at least fifteen pounds of fish — a splendid catch 
for the Gulf of Marseilles, which, from several causes, 
especially on account of the extremely fine nets which 
are used, has been yielding much less fish for many 
j^ears past. 

“ That’s the lot,” said Micoulin. “ Now we can make 
for home.” 

He had carefully arranged his baskets in the stern ; 
but when Frdderic saw him prepare to set the sail, he 
remarked that, with such a wind blowing, it would be 
more prudent to confine themselves to rowing. The old 
man shrugged his shoulders. He knew what he was 
about. And, before hoisting the sail, he cast a last 


MURDEROUS ATTEMPTS. 


139 


look towards La Blancarde. Nais's white dress was 
still there. 

Then came the catastrophe, as sudden as a thunder- 
bolt. Afterwards, when Fr^d^ric tried to think over 
what had happened, he remembered that all at once a gust 
had caught the sail, and that then all had overturned. 
He could not call anything further to mind ; only a feel- 
ing of intense cold and bitter agony. He owed his life 
to a miracle ; he had fallen on the sail, which kept him 
afloat. Some fishermen, having seen the accident, has- 
tened to his help, and picked him up, as well as old 
Micoulin, who was already swimming towards the shore. 

Madame Kostand was still asleep, and they concealed 
from her the danger which her son had incurred. At the 
foot of the terrace, Frederic and Micoulin, dripping with 
water, found Hai's, who had witnessed the scene. 

“Devil take it!” cried the old man. “We’d taken 
up the traps and were coming home. Bad luck to it 
all 1 ” 

Na'is, who Avas deadly pale, looked fixedly at her 
father. 

“Yes,” she muttered, “ it’s bad luck. But when you 
sail in a wind like that, you know what to expect.” 

Micoulin flew into a rage. 

“ What’s that to do with you, lazybones? Can’t you 
see Monsieur Frederic shivering ? Help me to get him 
home.” 

Tne young man got off with a day in bed, telling his 
mother that he had a headache. The next day he found 
Nais very dispirited. She refused to meet him out of 
doors again, though one evening, in the passage, she, 


140 


MURDEROUS ATTEMITS. 


took him in her arms and kissed him passionately. She 
never told him of her suspicions, but from that day for- 
ward she watched over him. Then, at the end of a 
week, her fears began to diminish. Her father went 
about as usual ; he even seemed kinder, and beat her 
less often. 

Every year the Rostands used to go to eat a houilla- 
haisse in a hollow of the rocks on the shore in the direc- 
tion of Niolon. jAfterwards, as partridges abounded 
amongst the hills, the gentlemen would organize a shoot- 
ing party. That year Madame Rostand wanted to take 
Kais to wait on them, and refused to listen to Micoulin’s 
remarks when the old savage wanted to raise some 
objection. 

They set out early. The morning was a charming 
one. Lying like a mirror beneath the gleaming sun, the 
sea displayed its blue expanse ; ripples appeared amid 
the currents, and the blue was tinged with violet, whilst 
in the stagnant spots the azure faded away into a milky 
transparency. You might have imagined the sea to be 
an immense piece of unfolded satin, with changing 
colors growing more and more indistinct as the lim- 
pid horizon was gained. Over this slumbering lake 
the boat glided very softly. 

The narrow beach on which they landed was at the 
mouth of a gorge, and they settled down on the strip of 
scorched grass which was to serve as a table. 

How enjoyable this open-air picnic was! First of all 
Micoulin set off alone in the boat to take up the baskets 
which he had set the day before. When he came back 
Nais had gathered some thyme and lavender and enough 


MURDEROUS ATTEMPTS. 


141 


dry ^ood to make a large fire. That day the old man 
was to make the houillahaisse^ the classic fish soup, the 
secret of which the coast fishermen transmit from father 
to son. And a terrible bouillabaisse it was, with its 
strong doses of pepper, and odor of crushed garlic. The 
Eostands were greatly interested in the preparation of 
the mess. 

“ Micoulin,” said Madame Rostand, “do you think 
you will be as successful as last year ? ” 

The old man seemed to be in excellent spirits. First 
of all he washed the fish in sea water, whilst Nais took 
the large pan out of the boat. Soon all was in progress: 
the fish at the bottom of the vessel, just covered with 
some water, with some onion, oil, garlic, a handful of 
pepper, and a tomato; then the whole was placed on the 
fire, a formidable fire, large enough to roast a sheep. 
Fishermen say that the goodness of bouillabaisse lies in 
the cooking : the pan must disappear amid the flames. 
Micoulin gravely cut some slices of bread into a salad 
bowl, and at the end of half-an-hour he poured the liquor 
on the slices, serving up the fish separately. 

“ Come along,” he said, “ It’s not good unless it’s 
hot.” 

Then the bouillabaisse was eaten with the usual jokes. 

“ I say, Micoulin, did you put any gunpowder in it ? ” 

“ It’s very good, but it wants a throat of brass to 
swallow it.” 

Micoulin devoured his share tranquilly, swallowing 
a slice of bread at each mouthful, and showing, at the 
same time, how flattered he felt at eating with his 
masters. 


142 


MURDEROUS ATTEMPTS. 


Having finished, they sat there waiting for the heat of 
the day to pass off. The glistening rocks covered with 
ruddy streaks threw grateful shadows around. Clumps 
of evergreen oaks showed their sombre foliage, whilst on 
the slopes the rows of pines ascended in regular lines, 
looking like little soldiers on the march. An oppressive 
silence filled the quivering air. 

Madame Eostand had brought the eternal embroidery, 
which was never seen to leave her hands. Nais, seated 
at her side, seemed to be interested in the movements of 
her needle. But her eyes were really on her father. 
He was lying on his back a few paces away, enjoying a 
siesta. Then, further still, Frederic also was sleeping 
beneath the protecting shade of his broad-brimmed straw 
hat. 

At about four o'clock they awoke, and Micoulin said 
that he knew of a covey of partridges at the bottom of 
a ravine. He had seen them three days previously, so 
Frederic allowed himself to be tempted, and they both 
took their guns. 

“Pray be careful,” said Madame Eostand. “You 
might slip and hurt yourself.” 

“Yes, that does happen sometimes,” said Micoulin 
quietly. 

They then went off, and as they disappeared behind 
the rocks, Kais jumped up and followed them at a dis- 
tance, muttering: 

“ I’m going to see.” 

Instead of keeping to the pathway at the bottom of 
the gorge, she turned to tlie left among the bushes, hur- 
rying along and avoiding the loose stones for fear of set- 


MURDEROUS ATTEMPTS. 


143 


ting them rolling. At length, at a bend of the road, she 
espied Frederic, who had no doubt put the partridges 
up, for he was walking quickly, bending slightly, and 
ready to lift his gun to his shoulder. As yet she saw 
nothing of her father, but presently she discovered him 
on the same slope as herself: he was crouching down, 
looking towards the gorge, and he seemed to be waiting 
for something. Twice he raised his gun. Supposing the 
partridges flew between the two sportsmen, MicouKn and 
Frederic might shoot one another. Nais, gliding from 
bush to bash, had anxiously taken up her position 
behind the old man. 

Some minutes passed. On the other side Frederic had 
disappeared in a dip in the ground, but finally he reap- 
peared, and remained for an instant motionless. Then 
Micoulin, still crouching down, took a long aim at the 
young man. But with a kick Nais knocked the barrel 
of his gun upward, and the charge exploded in the air 
with a fearful report which brought down all the echoes. 

The old man sprang to his feet. Seeing Nais, he seized 
the gun by its smoking barrel, as if he meant to dash 
her to the earth with one blow. But the young girl 
stood her ground, her cheeks as white as death, her eyes 
darting fire. He dared not strike her, and, trembling 
with rage, he could only stammer out in dialect : 

“ I’ll kill him, never you fear ! ” 

At the report of the gun the partridges had flown off, 
Frederic winging two of them. At about six o’clock 
the Eostands returned to La Blancarde, old Micoulin 
rowing with his accustomed air of sullen, stubborn 
brutishness. 


144 


THE LANDSLIP. 


CUAPTBR V. 

THE LANDSLIP. 

S EPTEMBER was drawing to an end. After a vio- 
lent storm the air had become very cool. The 
days grew shorter, and Nai’s refused to meet Frederic at 
night-time, excusing herself on the ground that she was 
too tired, and that they would catch cold in the heavy 
dews which saturated the ground. Still as she came to 
the house every morning at six o’clock, and Madame 
Rostand did not get up till three hours later, the lovers 
were able to meet and exchange their kisses. 

It was at this period that Na'is showed the greatest 
affection for Freddric. She would take hold of his neck 
draw his face towards hers, and look into it with a pas- 
sion which filled her eyes with tears. It was as if she 
feared she might see him no more. Then she showered 
kisses upon him as if to protest and swear that she 
would guard him. 

“What is the matter with Nais?” Madame Rostand 
would often remark. “ She changes every day.” 

And, indeed, she was becoming thinner, and her cheeks^ 
more hollow. The fire in her eyes was dying away. 
She often remained for a long while silent, rousing her- 
self with a start, and the alarmed look of a girl awaken- 
ing from a dream. 

“ You are ill, my child; you must take care of your- 
self,” repeated her mistress. 


THE LANDSLIP. 


146 


Then Nais would smile and answer: 

'‘Oh, no, madame; I’m quite well and happy. IVe 
never been so happy.” 

One morning, as she was helping to count the linen, 
she ventured to ask a question : 

“Are you going to stop late at La Blancarde this 
year ? ” 

“ Till the end of October,” replied Madame Kostand. 

Nai’s stood still for a moment with her eyes fixed; 
then she unconsciously said aloud: 

“ Twenty days more.” 

A continual stniggle was taking place within her. 
She wished to keep Frederic with her, and yet at the 
same time she was constantly tempted to cry out, “ Go ! ”' 

He was lost to her; never would that season of love 
return; she had told herself so from their first meeting. 
During one night of gloomy despair she had even gone 
so far as to wonder whether she ought not to allow her 
father to kill Frederic, so that he might never love 
another ; but the idea of seeing him dead — he so deli- 
cate, so fair, more like a girl than herself — was insup- 
portable to her, and the evil thought filled her with 
horror. No, she would save him, and he should never 
know of it. He might love her no longer, but §he 
would be happy in the thought that he still lived. 

She would often say to him : 

“ Don’t go to sea to-day; the weather will be rough.” 

At other times she pressed him to leave La Blancarde. 

“You must be sick of being here; you won’t love rno 
any longer. Go to town for a few days.” 

These changes of hurnqr surprised him. lie thought 

9 ■ ’ 


146 


THE LANDSLIP. 


her less haudsome, now that her face had become drawn ; 
and besides satiety had come. He pined for the eau de 
Cologne and the rice powder of the Aix and Marseilles 
beauties. 

The old man’s words were constantly ringing in NaiV 
ears: “I’ll kill him, I’Jl kill himl” In the middle of 
the night she would wake up, dreaming of shots being 
fired. She became timid, and uttered a cry when a stone 
rolled away from under her feet. Whenever Frederic 
was out of her sight, she would worry about him; and 
what terrified her most was that from morning to night 
she still seemed to hear Micoulin repeating, “I’ll kill 
him 1 ” The old man in his stubborn silence never made 
any allusion to what had passed, not a word, not a ges- 
ture; but for her his every look, his every movement 
implied that he would kill his young master at the first 
opportunity he had of doing so, without being disturbed. 
Afterwards he would deal with Nais. In the meantime 
he kicked her about like some disobedient dog. 

“Does your father still use you badly?” asked Fr^d- 
^ric of Nais one morning. 

“Yes,” she replied ; “he’s going mad.” 

And after showing him her arms, black with bruises, 
she muttered these words, which she often whispered to 
herself: 

“It’ll soon be over, it’ll soon be over.’^ 

At the beginning of October she became more gloomy 
than ever. Slie was absent-minded, and one could see 
her lips move, as if she were talking to herself. Fred- 
eric saw her several times standing on the cliff, seem- 
ingly examining the trees around her and measuring the 


THE LANDSI.IP. 


147 


depth of the abyss. A fcAV days later he discovered her 
with Toine, the humpback^ plucking figs on the furthest 
part of the estate. Toine used to come and help her 
whenever she had too much to do. lie was under the 
fig tree, and Nais, who had mounted on a thick branch, 
was joking with him, calling to him to open his mouth, 
and then throwing down some figs which burst on his 
face. The poor fellow opened his mouth as he was bid- 
den, and closed his eyes in ecstasy, whilst his huge face 
expressed complete beatitude. Frederic was certainly 
not jealous, but he could not refrain from taking Nais to 
task. 

“ Toine would cut off his hand for us,” she said, curtly. 
“We musn’t ill-treat him, he may be useful later on.” 

The humpback continued coming to La Blancarde 
every day. He worked on the cliff* cutting a narrow 
canal to bring some water to the end of an experimental 
kitchen garden. Nais used to go and watch him, and 
lively talk would ensue between them. He was so long 
over the task that old Micoulin finally called him a lazy- 
bones and kicked his legs, as lie would have done his 
daughter’s. 

For two days the rain fell. Frederic, who had to 
return to Aix the following week, determined that before 
leaving he would go out fishing again with Micoulin. 
Seeing Nais turn pale, he laughed and said that he 
should not choose a day when the mistral was blowing. 
Then, as he was so soon to go away, the j^oung girl con- 
sented to meet him once more at night. At about one 
o’clock they met on the terrace. The rain had cleansed 
the soil, and a strong scent arose from the freshened 


148 


THE LANDSUP. 


vegetation. When this parched country is thoroughly 
soaked, all its colors and odors became exaggerated, 
as it were; the red earth looks like blood, the pines are 
ol’ an emerald green, the rocks of the whiteness offreshly- 
washed linen. But that night all the lovers could detect 
was the enhanced scent of the thyme and lavender. 

Old associations led them to the olive trees. Frdderic 
was walking towards the one which had sheltered their 
first love-meeting — it stood quite at the edge of the 
abyss — when Nais, as if aroused from a reverie, seized 
his arm, dragged him from the edge, and said, trembling: 

“ No, no ; not there 1” 

“ Why, what is the matter? ” he asked. 

She hesitated, and finally said that after such a fall of 
rain the cliff was not safe. And she added : 

“ Last winter there was a landslip here.’^ 

They sat down further back, under another olive tree. 
At last Nais convulsively burst into tears, and would 
not say why she was crying. Then a cold silence took 
possession of her, and when Freddric joked her about her 
sadness and apathy in his company she murmured : 

‘‘No, don’t say that. I love you too much. But 
I’m not well; and, besides, it’s all over. You’re going 
5,way.” 

lie vainly tried to comfort her, telling her that he 
would come again from time to time, and that next 
autumn they would have two months before them again. 
She shook her head; she knew very well that all was 
over now. 

Their meeting ended in embarrassing silence; they 
gazed at the sea; Marseilles was glittering with gas 


THE LANDSLIP. 


149 


lamps; the Planier lighthouse displayed its solitary 
mournful gleam ; gradually the vast horizon imparted 
some of its melancholy to them. At three o'clock, 
when Frederic left Nais, kissing her lips, he felt her 
shudder. 

He could not sleep that night; he read till dawn, and 
then, feeling feverish, he took up his position at the 
window. Just at that moment Micoulin was starting 
off to take up his traps. As the old man passed along 
the terrace he raised his head and asked Frederic if he 
was coming that morning. 

‘‘ No,” replied Frederic ; “ I’ve slept too badly. To- 
morrow.” 

The old fellow went off with a slouching gait. He 
had to go down to his boat at the foot of the cliff, just 
under the olive tree, where he had surprised his daugh- 
ter. When he had disappeared, Frederic, on turning 
his head, was astonished to see Toine already at work ; 
the humpback was standing near the olive tree with a 
pickaxe in his hand, repairing the narrow channel which 
the rain had damaged. The air was cool ; it was pleas- 
ant at the window. Frederick went to make a cigar- 
ette, and as he lounged back to the casement a terrible 
crash — a roll of thunder — was suddenly heard. He 
rushed to the window. It was a landslip. He could 
only distinguish Toine, who was running for his life, 
flourishing his pickaxe, amid a cloud of red dust. At 
the edge of the abyss the old olive tree, with its gnarled 
branches, had been pitched forward, crashing into the 
sea. A cloud of spray flew up, while a terrible cry rent 
the air. Then Frederic saw Nais leaning over the para- 


150 


THE LANDSLIP. 


pet, her stiffened arms clutching at the stonework, while 
her eyes peered into the depths below. There she stood, 
motionless and expectant, with her hands, as it were, 
fixed to the low wall. Still, she no doubt realized that 
some one was looking at her, for she turned her head, 
saw Frederic, and cried : “ My father ! my father ! ” 

An hour afterwards they found Micoulin’s mutilated 
body under the stones. Toine, nearly crazy, related 
how he had almost been carried away, and every one 
declared that it was wrong to carry a stream along 
the top of the cliff, on account of the infiltrations. 

The old wife wept a great deal. As for Nai’s, she 
followed her father to the cemetery with tearless eyes. 

On the day after the catastrophe, Madame Eostand 
had insisted upon returning to Aix. Frederic was very 
much pleased to leave, on seeing his tranquillity dis- 
turbed by this terrible drama; and, moreover, in his 
opinion, peasant girls were not equal to their town-bred 
sisters. He resumed his old mode of life. His mother, 
touched by his attentiveness to her at La Blancarde, 
gave him more liberty, so that he passed a charming 
winter. He engaged a furnished room in the town, 
where he could do as he listed, and he slept from home, 
only returning to the vast, frigid mansion in the Eue du 
College when his presence was indispensable. He fondly 
hoped that his existence would always continue to glide 
thus smoothly away. 

Monsieur Eostand had to go to La Blancarde at 
Easter, and wished his son to accompany him ; but 
Frdddric made some excuse. When the lawyer came 
back, he said the next morning at breakfast : 


THE LANDSLIP. 


151 


“Oh ! by the way, Nais is going to be married.’’ 

“Never I ” cried Frederic in amazement. 

“And you’d never guess to whom,” continued Mon- 
sieur Eostand. “ She gave me such good reasons, how- 
ever.” 

The fact was Nai’s was marrying Toine. In that way 
nothing would be changed at La Blancarde. Toine 
would still manage the property, as he had done since 
Micoulin’s death. 

The young man listened with an awkward smile. 
Presently he gave it as his opinion that the arrange- 
ment was the best one for everybody concerned. 

“Nais has grown very old and plain,” continued Mon- 
sieur Eostand. “ I didn’t know her again. It’s an 
astonishing thing how quickly girls age on the coast ; 
and she used to be very pretty, too.” 

“Yes, a feast of sunlight,” said Fr^d^ric composedly, 
and then he quietly went on eating his cutlet. 


MADAME CHABRE. 

BY fiMILE ZOLA. 


CHAPTEE I. 

HECTOR. 

M ONSIEUE CIIABRE’S great grief was that hq 
had no children. He had married a Mademoi- 
selle Catinot, the daughter of the senior partner in the 
firm of Desvignes & Catinot — the fair Estelle, a tall, 
handsome girl of eighteen ; and for the last four years 
he had been waiting for a son and heir. 

Monsieur Chabre was a retired grain merchant, and 
was the possessor of a large fortune. Although he had 
led the chaste life of a citizen, who is absorbed in the 
one idea :fer becoming a millionaire, he had at the age 
of forty-five the gait of an old man. His pallid face, 
worn by pecuniary cares, was as dull and expressionless 
as a paving stone ; and he was in despair, for a man who 
has made an income of fifty thousand francs lias cer- 
tainly the right to worry over the fact that he is child- 
less. 

Pretty iladame Chabre was at that time two-and- 
twenty. She was an adorable creature, with a complex- 
ion reminding one of a ripe peach, and with fair hair 
floating about her shoulders. Her greenish blue eyes 
( 152 ) 


HECTOR. 


155 


resembled a sheet of still water, beneath which it 'ke 
difficult to distinguish anything. Among their friends 
Madame Chabre was looked upon as a woman of perfect 
education, incapable of furnishing any cause for scandal, 
lairly religious, and brought up by a strict mother in the 
observance of the best principles. But the delicate nos- 
trils of her little white nose would sometimes quiver in 
a way which would have alarmed any other husband 
than a retired grain merchant. 

However, the family doctor. Monsieur Guiraud, an 
acute and good-tempered man, had had several private 
conversations with Monsieur Chabre, and finally seeing 
that his patient was in an ailing state, he advised him 
to take sea baths, to go to the coast for a few weeks, 
breathe the air from the briny deep, and eat plenty of 
shell-fish, which, so the doctor declared, were extremely 
nutritious, and the very kind of food that Monsieur 
Chabre needed. 

Then, just as he was going away, he added carelessly: 

“Don’t go and bury yourselves in some out of the 
way nook. Madame Chabre is young, and wants amu^ 
sing. Go to Trouville. The air is very good there.” 

Three days later the Chabres started. But the retired 
grain merchant had concluded that it would be folly to 
go to Trouville, where he would have to spend no end 
of money. Any place is good enough for a man to eat 
sliell-fish in ; more than that, in a quiet place shell-fish 
would be more plentiful and less costly. As for amuse- 
ment, there would always be enough and to spare of 
that; they were not going on a pleasure trip, but simply 
for the benefit of his, Monsieur Chabre’s, health. 


HECTOR. 


A friend had recommended to Monsieur Chabre the 
little town of Pouliguen, near Saint-Nazaire, in La 
Vendde. Madame Chabre, after a twelve hours’ jour- 
ney, was bored to death during the day which they 
spent at Saint- Nazaire, that budding town witli its new 
streets all straight and prim, and still full of half-built 
houses. They went to look at the harbor, they wan- 
dered about the streets, in which the shops were half- 
way between the dark-colored groceries of villages 
and the luxurious emporiums of real towns. At Pouli- 
guen there was not a chalet to let. The little houses of 
boards and plaster which surrounded the bay, looking 
like the bedaubed shanties of a fair, were already in- 
vaded by English visitors and rich tradesmen from 
Nantes. Moreover, Estelle turned up her nose at the 
style of architecture, in which the provincial builders 
had given full scope to their imagination. 

The travellers were advised to go and sleep at Guer- 
ande. It was Sunday. When they arrived there at 
about mid-day. Monsieur Chabre was startled, although 
he was not of a poetic temperament. The sight of 
Gu^rande, of this „well-preserved feudal gem, with its 
fortified enceinte, and its deep-set gates, surrounded by 
machicolations, astonished him. Estelle looked at the 
silent town, surrounded by great trees and promenades ; 
and a smile flashed from her quiet eyes. But the vehi- 
cle rolled on, the horse passed under a gateway at a trot, 
and the wheels jolted over the rough stones of the nar- 
row streets. The Chabres had not exchanged a word. 

“ A regular hole ! ” at last muttered tlie grain merchant. 
“The villages about Paris are much better built.” 


HECTOR. 


155 


As the couple got out of the vehicle in front of the 
Hotel du Commerce, which is situated in the middle of 
the town, near the church, the people were just coming 
from mass. Whilst her husband was seeing to the lug- 
gage, Estelle took a short walk, being much interested 
in this procession of the devout, a large number of whom 
wore very strange costumes. There, in white blouse 
and baggy trousers, were the denizens of the salt marshes 
which stretch between Gudrande and Le Croisic. Then 
there were the petty farmers, a totally distinct class, 
wearing short cloth jackets and broad-brimmed hats. 
But Estelle was especially charmed by the rich costume 
of a young girl, whose cap fitted close to her head and 
terminated in a point. To the body of her red dress 
there was affixed a breastplate of bright-colored bro- 
caded silk. A sash, adorned with gold and silver crn- 
bioidery, was bound round her three superposed skirts, 
which were of blue cloth with small tucks, whilst a long 
apron of orange silk fell in front of her, leaving uncov- 
ered her red woollen stockings, and her feet clad in little 
yellow slippers. 

‘‘Well,” said Monsieur Chabre, who had taken up his 
position behind his wife, “one must come to Brittany to 
sec a carnival like this! ” 

Estelle did not reply. A tall young man of about 
twenty was coming out of church with an old lady on 
his arm. His complexion was very fair, his look proud, 
and his hair of a yellowish tinge. He was almost a 
giant, with fiis broad shoulders, his brawny limbs, on 
which the muscles stood out, and yet he had the soft, 
delicate and rosy face of a young girl, without a hair 


156 


HECTOR. 


upon it. As Estelle was looking at him, astonished by 
his surpassing comeliness, he turned his head, glanced at 
her for a second, and blushed. 

“ Hullo 1” muttered Monsieur Chabre, “there’s one 
man at least who’s got a human face. He’d make a 
splendid carabineer.” 

“It’s Monsieur Hector,” said the hotel servant, who 
had heard this. “He’s with his mother, Madame de 
Plougastel. lie’s such a nice, good young man.” 

During lunch, the Chabres heard a lively discussioti. 
The commissioner of mortgages, who took his meals at 
the Hotel du Commerce, was extolling the patriarchal 
life of Gu^rande, and especially the good morals of the 
young. According to him, it was the religious educa- 
tion of the inhabitants which thus preserved their inno- 
cence. And he gave examples, he quoted facts. But a 
commercial traveller, who had arrived that morning with 
some cases of cheap jewelry, sneered, saying that on his 
way thither he had seen boys and girls kissing behind 
the hedges. He would have liked to see these virtuous 
country youths if some amiable ladies came within their 
reach. And he wound up by making such sport of relig- 
ion, of priests and nuns, that his opponent threw down 
his napkin and went off in high dudgeon. The Chabres 
had gone on eating, without saying a word, the husband 
furious at hearing such things talked of at a table d’hote, 
the wife calm and smiling, as if she had not understood 
a word. 

To while away the afternoon, the couple paid a visit 
to Gudrande. The chu rch of Sai nt- A ubi n was deliciously 
cool. They walked slowly about it, raising their eyes 


HECTOR. 


157 


to the lofty vaulted roof supported by clusters of little 
columns. They tarried before the curious carvings of 
the capitals, on which one may see executioners sawing 
their victims in two and roasting them on gridirons, 
whilst blowing into the fire to make it burn more 
fiercely. Afterwards they strolled about the five or six 
streets of the town, and Monsieur Chabre kept to his 
opinion; it was certainly a hole, with no trade, one of 
those relics of the Middle Ages of which so many have 
been already demolished. The streets were deserted, and 
bordered by gabled houses, which leaned one against 
another, like feeble old women. Pointed roofs, pepper 
boxes covered with tiles, corner towers, the remains of 
time-worn carvings — all helped to transform certain 
silent nooks into museums sleeping in the sun. Estelle, 
who had read some novels since she had been married, 
looked languishingly at the little windows with their 
panes surrounded by lead. She was thinking of Sir 
Walter Scott and Kenilworth. 

But when the Chabres went out of the town to walk 
round it, they nodded their heads, and had to admit that 
it was really pretty. The granite walls stood there, 
without a breach, guilded by the sun, and as sound as on 
the day they were built, Pestoons of ivy and honey- 
suckle hang from the machicolations. On the towers 
which flank the ramparts, shrubs have grown, golden 
broom and flaming wallflowers, whose clumps of flowers 
blaze in the bright sunlight. And all around the town 
stretch promenades overshadowed by tall trees, ancient 
elms, beneath which the grass grows thick and green. 
One can walk there as on a carpet, along the edge of the 


158 


HECTOR. 


old moat filled np in places with masonry; while in 
others there are stagnant pools wiiose weedy water is 
full of tbe reflections of silvery birch trees growing 
against the walls. Sunbeams glisten through the trees, 
and light up mysterious corners and postern-gates, where 
only frogs, with their sudden and terrified leaps, abide in 
the sombre silence of forgotten centuries. 

There are ten towers, I counted them,” cried Mon- 
sieur 'Chabre, when they had returned to their starting- 
point. 

The four gates of the town had particularly struck 
him; wdth their deep and narrow arcliAvays, through 
which only one vehicle could pass at a time. Was it 
not ridicnlous, in the Nineteenth Century, to remain 
shut up thus ? lie w^ould have razed the gates — ^regular 
citadels though they were, filled wdth loopholes, with 
W'alls so thick that two six-storied houses could have 
been built in their place! 

“Just think,” he added, “ of all the building materials 
that could be obtained from the ramparts.” 

They were then on the Mail, or Mall, a broad, raised 
jTomenade, forming a quarter of a circle from the 
eastern to the southern gate. Estelle remained thought- 
ful at the sight of the splendid view which stretched for 
miles beyond the roofs of tl.e suburbs. There was first 
a belt of green pine trees bent by the sea breezes, 
gnarled shrubs, a mass of dark verdure. Beyond this 
stretched the desert of salt marshes, an immense barren 
j'dain, wdth its mirror-like square basins, and its little 
white heaps of salt glittering amid tlie dreary expanse 
of sand. Then, further still, on the edge of the horizon, 


HECTOR. 


159 


there appeared tlic deep blue ocean. Three sails on this 
blue streak looked like three white swallows. 

“ There’s the young man we saw this morning,’- said 
Monsieur Chabre suddenly. ‘‘ Don’t you think he’s like 
little Lariviere? If he had the hump, it would be 
himself.” 

Estelle had slowly turned round; but Hector, who 
was standing on the edge of Mall, absorbed, too, in the 
distant view of the sea, did not appear to notice that any 
one was looking at him. Estelle walked slowly on, 
leaning upon the long handle of her sunshade. After 
going a few steps, the bow of the sunshade came off; 
and the Chabres suddenly heard a voice calling behind 
them: 

“ Madame, madame, ” 

It w^as Hector, who had picked up the bow. 

“ Thank you, very muph,” said Estelle, with her quiet 
smile. 

He seemed a very timid and nice young fellow, and 
took Monsieur Chabre’s fancy at once. The retired grain 
merchant confided to him his difficulties about a choice 
of seaside places, and even went so far as to ask for 
information. Hector began to stammer. 

“ I don’t think you’ll find what you want either at Le 
Croisic or at Bourg-de-Batz,” he said, pointing out the 
spires of these little towns on the horizon. “ I should 
advise you to go to Piriac.” He then gave them further 
particulars. Piriac was nine miles off, he had an uncle 
who lived there ; and finally, in answer to a question 
from Monsieur Chabre, he stated that shell-fish were 
to be found there in abundance. Meanwhile, the lady 


160 


THE SWIMMERS. 


tapped the short grass with the end of her sunshade, and 
the young gentleman did not raise his eyes to her, as if 
embarrassed by her presence. 

“What a pretty town Guerande is,” said Estelle at 
last, in her musical voice. 

“Yes, very pretty,” stammered Hector, suddenly 
enwrapping her in an ardent gaze. 


o 


CHAPTEE II. 


THE SWIMMERS, 



morning, three days after the couple had taken 


VJ' up their quarters at Piriac, Monsieur Chabre, 
standing on the jetty which protects the little harbor, 
was placidly watching Estelle, who was floating about 
in the water. The sun was already very hot; and, cor- 
rectly got up in a black coat and felt hat, the grain 
merchant was sheltering himself with a tourist’s green- 
lined sunshade. 

“Is it nice?” he asked, wishing to appear interested 
in his wife’s bath. 

“Very nice,” replied Estelle, turning over again. 

Monsieur Chabre never bathed. He had a horror of 
the sea, which he concealed by saying that his doctors 
had formally forbidden him to bathe. This was the 
contrary of the truth ; still, whenever a wave rolled up 
on the beach and wet his feet, he started back as if some 
savage animal had shown its teeth. 


THE SWIMMERS. 


161 


“ So it’s nice ? ” he repeated, stupefied by the heat, ahd 
overcome by a sense of restless sleepiness. 

Estelle did not answer this time; she was swimming 
like a dog, and beating the water with her arms. Being 
as hardy as a boy, she used to bathe for houi*s together 
— a fact which was the despair of her husband, for he 
thought himself obliged to wait for her on the beach. 
Estelle had found the bathing at Piriac just to her taste. 
She could not bear a sloping beach, down which one has 
to walk for a long way before the water reaches one’s 
waist. She used to step to the end of the jetty, wrapped 
in her downy white dressing-gown, let it slip from 
her shoulders, and take a header. She wanted a depth 
of six yards, she said, so as not to strike against the 
rocks. Her bathing costume, made in one piece, and 
without any skirts, showed off* her tall figure; and the 
long blue sash, girding her waist, swept across her hips, 
which swayed with a rhythmical motion. In the clear 
water, with her hair gathered under a waterproof cap, 
from which a tress escaped here and there, she had all 
the suppleness of a fish, but with a woman’s voluptuous 
and rosy face. 

Monsieur Chabre had been waiting for a quarter of 
an hour in the blazing sun. Three times already he had 
looked at his watch. At last he ventured to remark, 
timidly: 

‘‘You’ve been in the water a long time, my dear. I 
think you ought to come out ; such a long bath must be 
tiring.” 

“ Why, I’ve only just got in ! ” cried Estelle. “ It’s 
like milk.” 

10 


162 


THE SWIMMERS. 


Tlien, throwing herself on her back: 

“ You can go if you’re tired. I have no need of you.’* 

He shook his head, and said that accidents happened 
BO easily ; whereupon Estelle smiled, thinking what a lot 
of good her husband would be to her if she were seized 
with cramp. But suddenly she looked towards the other 
side of the pier, where the bay extends on the left of the 
village. 

“LookI” she cried, “ what is that yonder? I’m going 
to see.” 

And then away she shot, with long and regular 
strokes. 

“Estelle! Estelle!” cried Monsieur Chabre. “Don’t 
go so far away! You know I can’t bear such foolhardi- 
ness.” 

But Estelle did not hear him, and he had to resign 
himself. Standing on tiptoe to watch the white spot, 
which the straw hat his wife was wearing over her glazed 
cap showed on the water, he kept changing his sunshade 
from hand to hand, feeling almost suffocated by the heat. 

“ Whatever has she seen ? ” he muttered. “ Oh, I see ; 
that thing that’s floating there. Some filth ; a mass of 
sea-weed, I suppose, or a barrel. But, no ; it’s moving.” 

Then suddenly he saw what this object was. 

“ Why, it’s a man swimming ! ” he said. 

Estelle also, after taking a few strokes, had discovered 
that it was a man. Upon this she had ceased swimming 
straight towards him, thinking it hardly proper to do so. 
Still, from a feeling of coquetry, and being happy to 
exhibit her skill, she did not return to the pier, but made 
for the open. She swam quickly on, without appearing 


THE SWIMMERS. 


163 


to have noticed the bather. The latter, as if carried 
along by a current, was gradually approaching her. So 
when she turned to regain the pier, a meeting, which 
appeared quite undesigned, took place. 

“Are you quite well, madame?” asked the gentleman, 
politely. 

“ Oh, it’s you ! ” said Estelle, gayly. 

And she added, with a slight laugh : 

“How one does meet again 1’* 

It was young Hector de Plougastel. He was still shy, 
but he looked very strong and very rosy in the water. 
For a moment they swam on without speaking, at a 
decent distance from one another. They were obliged 
to raise their voices to hear what the 3 rsaid, but Estelle 
thought it her duty to be polite. 

“We are so much obliged to you for telling us of 
Piriac,” she said. “My husband is delighted with it.” 

“Is that your husband who is standing alone yonder 
on the pier?” asked Hector. 

“Yes,” replied Estelle. 

Then they again became silent. They looked at the^ 
husband, who seemed no larger than a fly above the 
water. Monsieur Chabre, very much puzzled, drew him- 
self up, wondering what acquaintance his wife could 
possibly have met with in the middle of the sea. It was 
certain that she was talking to a gentleman ; he could 
see them turn their heads towards one another. It must 
be one of their Paris friends. But he racked his brains 
to no purpose, he could not think of one amongst them 
who would have been so adventurous. So he waited, 
tvvrirling his sunshade to pass away the time. 


164 


THE SWIMMERS. 


‘‘Yes,’’ explained Hector to the handsome Madame 
Chabre, “I came to pass a few days with my uncle, 
whose chateau you can see over yonder. Every day 
when I bathe I start from that point opposite the ter- 
race, and swim as far as the pier. Then I swim back. 
It’s two miles altogether, and splendid exercise. But 
you must be very brave, madame. I never saw a lady 
so brave.” 

“ Oh,” said Estelle, “when I was quite a child I used 
to paddle. The sea knows me well. We’re old 
friends.” 

They had gradually approached one another, so as not 
to have to shout so loud. The sea on that sultry morn- 
ing was sleeping like a vast lake. In places it was like 
a piece of satin; then there were stretches which resem- 
bled some crumpled material, with the hardly percepti- 
ble vibration of a current, rising and falling and spread- 
ing afar. When they were close to one another the con- 
versation took a more intimate turn. 

It was a glorious day. Hector pointed out to Estelle 
several points on the coast. That village over there, 
about a mile from Piriac, was Port-aux-Loups ; that 
stretch opposite, where the white clifts stood out so 
distinctly, was Morbihan. There, on the other side 
towards the open sea, the island of Dumet lay like a 
dark patch on the blue water. As he pointed out each 
of these, Estelle followed the direction of Hector’s finger 
and stopped for a moment to look. She was fond of* 
gazing at these far-off coasts, with her eyes on a level 
with the water. When she turned towards the sun its 
dazzling light startled her, and the sea appeared to be 


THE SWIMMERS. 


165 


clianged to a limitless Sahara, owing to the blinding 
reverberation of the luminary. 

“ How lovely it is ! ” she murmured. 

Then she threw herself on her back to rest, lying 
motionless, with her hands crossed on her bosom and 
her head thrown back, in an abandoned pose. 

*‘So you were born at Guerande? ” she asked. 

In order to talk more comfortably Hector also turned 
upon his back. 

“Yes,” he replied. “I have only been once to 
Nantes.” 

Then he told her about his younger days. He had 
grown up beside his mother, who Avas strictly pious and 
preserved the traditions of the old nobility intact. His 
tutor, a priest, had taught him all that one learns at 
school, Avith plenty of catechism thrown in, and her- 
aldry. He could ride, fence, and Avas Avell inured to all 
bodily exercises. And with all this he seemed to be of 
a virgin innocence, for he confessed every week, he never 
read novels, and when he came of age he Avas to marry 
an ugly cousin. 

“What! you are only just twenty!” exclaimed Es- 
telle, casting a surprised look at this colossal cliild. 

She became quite maternal. This flower of the strong 
Breton race interested her. But as they lay on their 
backs, their eyes gazing in the transparence of heaven, 
thinking no longer of earth, they were carried so close 
to one another that finally they gently collided. 

“Oh ! I beg pardon,” said Hector. 

Then he dived, and reappeared a few yards off, while 
she began to swim again, and laughed heartily. 


166 


THE SWIMMERS. 


“It was a case of boarding,” she cried. 

Hector was scarlet. He came closer to her again, 
looking slyly at her. He thought her delicious, beneath 
her broad-brimmed hat. There was nothing to be seen 
but her face, and her dimpled chin laved by the water. 
A few drops which fell from the blonde tresses which 
had escaped from her cap shone like pearls amidst the 
down on her cheeks. And nothing could have been 
more exquisite than her smile, her pretty face moving 
silently along, leaving a silver streak behind. 

Hector blushed more than ever when he saw that 
Estelle knew that he was looking at her, and was mak- 
ing merry over his confusion. 

“Your husband must be getting alarmed,” he finally 
said so as to start the conversation again. 

“Oh, no,” she answered quickly, “he’s used to wait- 
ing for me when I bathe.” 

To tell the truth. Monsieur Chabre was getting agi- 
tated. He took a few steps, walked back, then set off 
again, each time twirling his sunshade more quickly, in 
the hope of getting some fresh air. His wife’s conver- 
sation with that strange bather was beginning to alarm 
him. 

Suddenly Estelle thought that, perhaps, he had not 
recognized Hector. 

“I’ll call out and tell him that it’s you,” she said to 
the young man. 

And as soon as she came within hearing of the pier, 
she shouted: 

“ My dear, it’s the gentleman from Guerande, who was 
so kind to us.” 


THE SWIMMERS. 


167 


Oh, very well,” cried Monsieur Chabre in his turn, 
and he took off his hat and bowed. 

“Is the water pleasant, sir? ” he asked, politely. 

“ Very pleasant, sir,” replied Hector. 

The bathing went on under the eyes of the husband, 
who did not dare to complain, although his feet were 
roasted by the burning stones. At the end of the pier 
the sea was of a lovely transparency. The bottom was 
plainly to be seen at a depth of four or five yards, with 
its fine sand, its patches of dark or light pebbles, its 
slender weeds, standing upright and waving their long 
tresses. This charming sight delighted Estelle. She 
swam about gently, so as not to disturb the surface, and, 
bending down, with the water coming up to her nose, 
she gazed at the sand and pebbles in the mysterious 
depths beneath her. The weeds especially almost fright- 
ened her when she passed over them. There they lay 
in greenish masses, as if alive, swaying their jagged 
leaves, and all in motion like the claws of crabs ; some 
short and clustering, and nestling between the rocks, 
others deformed, straggling, and seemingly as supple as 
serpents; Estelle kept uttering little screams as she 
made fresh discoveries. 

“Oh, what a big stone ! It looks as if it were moving. 
And that’s a tree, a real tree, with branches. There! 
there’s a fish 1 It’s swimming 1 ” 

Then, after a pause, she cried out : “ Whatever is 

that? A bunch of flowers I Why, are there flowers in 
the sea? Look, they’re just like white blossoms. Oh, 
how pretty!” 

Hector dived, and came to the surface again with 


168 


THE SWIMMERS. 


a handful of whitish weeds, which fell back and faded 
on leaving the water. 

“Thank jou so much,” said Estelle. “You shouldn’t 
have troubled. Here, my dear, take care of this for 
me.” 

And she threw the handful of weeds at Monsieur 
Chabre’s feet. For a few moments longer the two young 
people swam about, making the water seethe with their 
short, jerky strokes. Then all at once their energy 
seemed to leave them and they glided slowly about, 
forming circles in the water which oscillated and then 
died away. It was like some mysterious intimacy, this 
revelling together in the same water. Hector, as the 
water closed after Estelle’s moving body, tried to glide 
into the wake which she left, as if to occupy the same 
place and feel the warmth of her limbs. Around them 
the sea had become still calmer, and of a blue of which 
the paleness almost verged on pink. 

“ My dear, you’ll catch cold,” said Monsieur Chabre, 
from whom the perspiration was dropping. 

“ I’m coming out,” she replied. 

She left the water, and with the aid of a chain quickly 
mounted the sloping face of the pier. Hector had 
intended to “watch hey get out, but when he turned his 
head at the sound of the water dripping from her, she 
was already up above, wrapped in her dressing-gown. 
He looked so surprised and so annoyed that she smiled 
in the midst of her shivers; and she shivered because 
she knew she looked charming thus, with her tall, 
draped silhouette standing out against the sky. 

The young man took his leave. 


ESTELLE’S ENJOYMENTS. 


169 


“I hope we shall have the pleasure of seeing you 
again, sir?’* said the husband. 

And as Estelle, whilst tripping along the pier, watched 
Hector’s head traversing the bay again, Monsieur Cha- 
bre walked gravely behind her, carrying the weed gath- 
ered by the young man, with his arm outstretched, so as 
not to wet his coat. 

: o : 

CIIAPTEE III. 

Estelle’s enjoyments. 

f'l^HE Chabres had taken the first floor of a large 
.JL house at Piriac, which overlooked the sea. As 
there were only some taverns in the village, they had 
been obliged to hire a woman from the neighborhood to 
cook for them. And pi ecious cooking it was — joints 
reduced to charcoal, and sauces of suspicious colors, 
fi’om which it resulted that Estelle preferred to eat 
bread. But, as Monsieur Chabre said, they had not 
come there to feed. He, for his part, hardly touched the 
aforesaid joints and sauces. Following the doctor’s 
advice, he stuffed himself with shell-fish. The hardest 
part of it was that he detested these unknown things, 
with their odd shapes, having been ^customed to plain, 
ordinary food, though, by the way, he was as fond of 
sweetmeats as a child. Shell-fish salted, shell-fish pep- 
pered, shell-fish of such strong and unexpected flavor 


170 


ESTELLE’S ENJOYMENTS. 


tried his palate to such an extent that it was impossible 
to avoid making a wry face when he swallowed them ; 
but he would have swallowed them shells and all, if 
necessary, so desperately anxious was he to obey the 
doctor’s behests. 

“ My dear, you don’t eat any shell-fish,” he would 
often say to Estelle, insisting that she should eat as 
much as he did. 

And then the argument would begin, Estelle saying 
that Doctor Guiraud had not spoken of herself. Having 
discovered an oyster bed, she at last complied so far as 
to eat a dozen at every meal. It was not that she, for 
the benefit of her health, personally needed oysters to 
eat, but she was very fond of them. 

Life at Piriac was dull to a degree. There were only 
three families of bathers — a wholesale grocer of Nantes; 
a retired notary from Gu^rande — a simple, deaf old 
fellow ; and a family from Angers, who used to fish all 
day, standing up to their waists in the water. This 
littje world gave few opportunities for diversion. They 
used to bow to one another when they met, and matters 
went no further. On the deserted quay the greatest 
excitement that was known was an occasional dog-fight. 

Estelle, who was accustomed to the turmoil of Paris, 
would have been bored to death if Hector had not paid 
them a visit every day. He became Monsieur Chabre’s 
great friend after they had one day taken a walk together 
along the shore. Monsieur Chabre, in a moment of 
expansiveness, had confided to the young man the object 
of his visit, and when he had scientifically explained to 
him the reason why he ate so many shell-fish, Hector 


ESTELLE’S ENJOYMENTS. 


171 


gazed at him from head to foot, without thinking of 
concealing his surprise. However, the next day he 
presented himself with a small basketful of whelks, 
which the retired grain merchant accepted with a look 
of gratitude. And from that day forward, being very 
expert at all kinds of fishing, and knowing every rock 
in the bay, he never came without bringing some shell- 
fish. He made him eat some splendid mussels, which 
he gathered at low tide ; sea-urchins, which pricked his 
fingers when he opened and cleaned them ; and all sorts 
of creatures with strange names, which he detached 
from the rocks with the point of a knife, and which he 
had never tasted himself. Monsieur Chabre, delighted, 
and no longer having to spend a copper, loaded the 
young man with thanks. 

Hector always had an excuse for coming there noAV. 
Every time that he arrived with his little basket and 
met Estelle, he made the same remark: 

“I’ve brought some shell-fish for Monsieur Chabre.” 

And then they both smiled, and their eyes twinkled. 
Monsieur Chabre’s shell-fish were a great source of 
amusement to them. From this time Estelle thought 
Piriac delightful. Every day, after bathing, she went 
for a walk with Hector. Her husband folloAved them at 
a distance, for his legs were heavy, and they often went 
too fast for him. Hector pointed out to Estelle the 
ancient splendors of Piriac — remains of carvings, and 
delicately traced doors and windows. To-day the town 
of former times is a deserted village, with streets full of 
dirt-heaps straggling between gloomy hovels. But the 
solitude is so sweet that Estelle strode over the open 


172 


ESTELLE'S ENJOYMENTS. 


sewers in tlie streets, interesting herself in the least little 
bit of stone-work, throwing surprised looks into the 
houses, where a whole bric-a-brac of misery littered the 
floor of beaten earth. Hector made her stop in front of 
the superb fig trees, with broad, soft, leathery leaves, 
with which the gardens are planted, and which stretch 
their branches over the low walls. They explored the 
narrowest streets, leaned over the parapets of the wells, 
at the bottom of which they could see their smiling 
faces in the clear, shining w^ater; w'hilst behind them 
Monsieur Chabre was digesting his shell-fish, sheltered 
beneath the green sunshade which never left him. 

Estelle derived great amusement from geese and pigs, 
which go about in bands in perfect liberty. At first she 
had been very much afraid of the pigs whose sudden rushes, 
whose masses of fit rolling about on little feet, kept her 
in constant fear of being pushed against and knocked 
over ; and they were so dirty, too, with their stomachs 
covered with mud and their grimy snouts grovelling in 
the earth. But Hector had assured her that pigs were 
the most good-natured creatures in the world, and then 
she became amused with their mad rushing about at 
feeding time, and admired their rosy skins which showed 
like ball dresses after a shower. 

The geese, too, had attractions for her. Often two 
flocks would arrive at some heap of rubbish from difier- 
ent directions. They seemed to salute each other with 
a snapping of beaks ; then they mingled with one another, 
and discussed the vegetable refuse together. One of them 
standing on tlie top of the heap, with round eyes and 
stiffened neck, as if immovably fixed to the spot, and 


ESTELLE’S ENJOYMENTS. 


173 


puffing out the white down on his breast, had all the 
majesty of a king, with his great yellow beak; whilst 
the others with lowered heads searched on the ground 
with hoarse murmurs. Then suddenly the big gander 
would descend, uttering a cry, and the geese of his flock 
would follow him, all their necks bent in the same 
direction, walking in measure, with an affected gait like 
that of disabled animals. If a dog passed, all necks 
were stretched out further and each goose hissed. Then 
Estelle clapped her hands and followed the majestic pro- 
cession of the two flocks who were returning home like 
grave individuals summoned by important business. 
Another of her amusements was to watch the pigs and 
the geese wash themselves, when they went down on the 
beach in the afternoon to bathe like human beings. 

The first Sunday, Estelle thought fit to go to church. 
She was not accustomed to do so in Paris, but in the 
country it passed away the time and gave one a chance 
to put on one’s best clothes and look at other people. 
And, besides, she came across Hector there, using an 
enormous prayer-book with worn covers. He never 
ceased looking at her over the top of it, with grave lips, 
but eyes so sparkling that one could see smiles in them. 
On coming out, he offered her his arm to cross the little 
cemetery which surrounds the church. 

In the evening, after vespers, there was another spec- 
tacle, a procession to a Calvary at the end of the village. 
A peasant marched first, carrying a banner of violet silk 
embroidered with gold, and suspended from a red handle. 
Then came two long lines of women walking at distant 
intervals. The clergy were in the middle, the village 


174 


estelle’3 enjoyments. 


priest, a curate, and the chaplain of a neighboring cha- 
teau, singing their loudest. Last of all, following a 
white banner which was carried by a stout wench with 
sunburnt arms, came a crowd of the faithful, trailing 
along like a straggling flock with a din of clogs. When 
the procession passed the harbor, the banners and the 
white caps of the women contrasted with the brilliant 
blue of the sea; and the slowly moving procession seemed 
invested with singular purity in the sunlight. 

The cemetery affected Estelle very much. She did 
not as a rule care for sad sights, and on the day of her 
arrival she had shuddered on seeing all the tombstones 
in front of her windows. The church faced the harbor, 
and was surrounded with wooden crosses, whose arms 
stretched towards the immensity of the sea and sky, and 
on stormy nights the breeze from the ocean sobbed 
through this forest of black boards. Estelle, however, 
had quickly become accustomed to the sight, for the 
little cemetery had a gentle gayety of its own. The 
dead seemed to smile there, in the midst of the liv- 
ing who crowded around them. The cemetery was 
enclosed by a low wall which was about breast high, 
and barred the way in the very midst of the village, but 
people did not hesitate about clambering over it and fol- 
lowing the walks, which were hardly discernible amid 
the high grass. Children played there, a crowd of chil- 
dren let loose among the granite slabs. Cats, too, hiding 
under shrubs, sprang out suddenly and pursued one 
another ; one might often hear their amorous mewing, 
and see the shadows of their bristling bodies and long 
tails lashing the air. 


ESTELLE’S ENJOYMENTS. 


175 


It was a delicious nook, overgrown with wild vegeta- 
tion, planted with gigantic fennels with large yellow 
umbels, whose smell was so penetrating that after a hot 
day the scent of aniseed which arose from the tombs 
filled the whole of Piriac. And what a calm and tran- 
quil spot the cemetery was at night! It seemed to waft 
peace over all the slumbering village. Darkness blotted 
out the crosses, belated promenaders sat on the granite 
seats against the wall, whilst, opposite, the sea waves 
rolled, the breeze blowing their salt breath inland. 

Estelle, while returning one evening on Hector’s arm, 
felt a wish to cross this deserted spot. Monsieur Chabre 
thought the idea too romantic, and went along the quay, 
protesting. The young woman had to let go of Hec- 
tor’s arm, so narrow was the path. In the midst of the 
tall grass her dress made one long rustle. The scent of 
the fennel was so strong that the amorous cats lying 
overcome on the ground did not even stir at her approach. 
As she reached the shadow cast by the church, she felt 
Hector’s hand on her waist. She then felt frightened 
and gave a little scream. 

“How stupid of me!” she said, when they emerged 
from the shade. “ I thought a ghost had got hold of me.” 

Hector began to laugh and tried to explain it. 

“Oh, it was some branch, some fennel that brushed 
against your dress,” said he. 

Then they stopped, and looked at the crosses around 
them ; the deep silence of death afiected them, and, 
without saying another word, they went on, ill at ease. 

“You were frightened; I heard you,” said Monsieur 
Chabre. “ J ust what I told you.” 


ESTELLE'S ENJOYMENTS. 


17 ^ 

When the tide came in, they used to go and watch the 
sardine boats arrive, just to pass away the time. As 
soon as a sail was visible, Hector went on to tell them 
about it. But the husband, after he had seen half a 
dozen of them, declared that it was the same thing over 
and over again. Estelle, on the contrary, did not seem 
tired of it; she was more delighted every time she went 
on the pier. Frequently they had to run, and she would 
leap from stone to stone, holding up her flying skirts 
with one hand, so as not to fall. She was quite out of 
breath when they arrived, and had to hold her hands to 
her chest, whilst she threw herself back to recover her- 
self. Hector thought her delightful thus, with her hat 
off and her boyish look. But the boat was made fast, 
and the fishermen began to carry up the baskets of sar- 
dines, which glittered like silver in the sun with their 
sapphiredike blues and their pinks of a pale ruby shade. 

Then the young man always gave the same explana- 
tions; each basket contained a thousand sardines, a 
thousand were worth a sum which was fixed every 
morning according to the abundance of the haul, the 
fishermen dividing the produce of the sale, after having 
set one-third aside for the owner of the boat. Then 
there was the salting, which was done at once in wooden 
cases pierced with holes to allow the brine to run off. 
However, after awhile, Estelle and her companion 
neglected the sardine boats. They went to see them, 
but did not look at them. They would start off* at a 
run, and return lazily, silently gazing at the sea. 

“A good haul?’’ asked Monsieur Chabre, each time 
they got back. 


ESTELLE'S ENJOYMENTS. 


17T 


Yes, very good,” they would reply. 

One Sunday evening there was an open air dance at 
Piriac. The country lads and lasses, with joined hands, 
whirled round for Ijours, repeating the same verse, in 
the same low and regular cadence. These rough voices 
murmuring in the twilight had a wild charm of their 
own. Estelle, sitting on the beach, with Hector at her 
feet, listened, and became absorbed in reverie. The sea 
flowed in with a caressing sound. One might have im- 
agined it was the voice of love, when the waves beat 
upon the sand; then the voice suddenly grew low, and 
died away in the retreating water with the plaintive 
murmur of subdued tenderness, 

“You must be tired of Piriac, my dear,” said Mon- 
sieur Chabre sometimes. 

But Estelle hastened to reply: 

“Oh, not at all, really.” 

She enjoyed herself in this deserted nook. The geese, 
the pigs, the sardines, all had their attractions. The lit- 
tle cemetery, too, was very pleasant. This sleepy life, 
this solitude, peopled only by the grocer from Nantes 
and the deaf notary of Gudrande, seemed to her more 
tumultuous than a noisy, fashionable watering-place. 
At the end of a fortnight. Monsieur Chabre, who was 
tired to death of it, wanted to go back to Paris. The 
shell-fish, he said, had done him enough good. But 
Estelle protested, saying: 

“Oh! no, my dear, you haven’t eaten enough. I’m 
certain you need more I ’’ 

11 


178 


SHRIMPING. 


CHAPTER IV. 

SHRIMPING. 

O NE evening Hector said to the Chabres : 

“There’ll be a high tide to-morrow. We might 
go shrimping.” 

This proposal seemed to delight Estelle. Yes, yes, 
they would go shrimping ! She had been looking for- 
ward to it for a long time. 

Monsieur Chabre, however, raised various objections. 
In the first place, one never caught anything. Then it 
was better to give some woman a franc or so for her 
take than to get wet through and hurt one’s feet. But 
he had to yield to his wife’s enthusiasm, and prepara- 
tions were made on a large scale. 

Hector had engaged to provide the necessary nets. 
Monsieur Chabre, in spite of his dread of cold water, de- 
clared that he would make one of the party, and, when 
he once gave his consent to fish, it meant serious busi- 
ness. In the morning he had a pair of boots greased, 
and then proceeded to don a white suit; but all his 
wife’s persuasion could not make him neglect his neck-tie, 
which he arranged as carefully as if he were going to a 
wedding. This neck-tie was the protest of a well-dressed 
man against the untidy ways of the sea. As for Estelle, 
she simply put on her bathing costume, over which she 
wore a jersey. Hector, too, was in bathing dress. 

Tlie trio set out at two o’clock, each carrying a net on 


SHRIMPING. 


179 


the shoulder. Tliey had to walk for a mile and a-half 
amid sand and sea- weed to reach a rock where Ilector 
said he knew there were regular shoals oT shrimps. He 
calmly led the way, splashing through the water, and 
going straight on, without troubling himself about the 
difficulties they met with. Estelle followed him gayly, 
delighted at the coolness of the puddles in which she 
s})lashed her little feet. Monsieur Chabre, who came 
last, did not see the necessity of wetting his boots before 
arriving at the fishing grounds. He conscientiously 
went round all the wet places, strode over the little 
streams which the falling tide had hollowed out in the 
sand, and picked out the dry spots with the carefulness 
of a Parisian, stepping over the paving stones in the 
Eue Vivienne on a muddy day. - He was out of breath 
already, and kept asking : 

“ Is it much further, Monsieur Hector ! Why 
shouldn’t we fish here ? I assure you I can see some 
shrimps. Besides, they’re everywhere in the sea, aren’t 
they ? And one would only have to push one’s net 
along.” 

“ Push it along then, Monsieur Chabre,” replied 
Hector. 

And Monsieur Chabre, in order to recover his breath, 
cast his net in a pool about as large as his hand. He 
caught nothing, however, not even a piece of sea-weed, 
so clear and empty was the water. Then he walked on 
again with a dignified air, and his lips pursed. But, as 
he lost his way in his anxiety to prove that there were 
shrimps everywhere, he finally found himself left con- 
siderably in the rear. 


180 


SllKlMriNG. 


Tlie tide was still going out, and tlie coast was more 
tlian a mile away. There were pebbles and rocks on all 
sides; as far as the eye could reach there stretched a 
rugged, watery desert, of a solitary grandeur, looking 
like some expanse that a storm has devasted. There 
was nothing to be seen in the distance but the green line 
of the sea, still running out, as if conquered by the land ; 
whilst black rocks in great narrow strips reared up, and 
projected like promontories into the stagnant water. 
Estelle stood and gazed intently on this gloomy immen- 
sity. 

‘‘ How grand it is ! ” she murmured. 

Hector pointed out to her some green-clad rocks, form- 
ing platforms, which were washed by the surf. 

“Tliey are only above water twice a month,’’ he ex- 
plained. “ There are quantities of mussels to be found 
there. Do you see those brown masses over there ? 
They are called the ‘ Bed Cows,’ and are the best place 
for lobsters. They never appear but at the lowest tides. 
But we must hurry. We’re going to those rocks of 
which you can just see the points.” 

Estelle was delighted wlien they reached the water. 
She lifted her feet up as high as she could, and then 
stamped about, laughing at the splashing foam. Then, 
when the water reached her knees, she had to struggle 
against the current, and she enjoyed walking quickly, 
and feeling the resistance of the water rushing past and 
caressing her limbs. 

“ Don’t be frightened,” said Hector. “ The water will 
be up to our waists, but it will get shallower again. 
We’re nearly there.” 


SHRIMl’INQ. 


181 


As lie had said, the water grew shallower. They had 
been crossing a small arm of the sea, and were now on a 
broad platform of rocks which had been left high and 
dry. When Estelle turned to look back she- uttered a 
slight scream on seeing how far they were from the 
shore. Piriac appeared far away on the horizon, with 
its white houses and square church tower. Never had 
she seen such a vast expanse, streaked in the brilliant 
sunshine by the golden sands, the dark verdure of the 
sea- weed, and the varied and striking colors of the 
rocks. It was like the world’s end, the waste of ruins 
where nothingness begins. 

Estelle and Hector were preparing to make their first 
cast, when a doleful voice was heard. Monsieur Chabre, 
standing in embarrassment amid the little arm of the 
sea, was tremulously asking his way. 

“ How do you get out of this? ” he cried. “ Straight 
on ? ” 

The water was up to his middle, and he did not dare 
to make another step, being terrified by the thought that 
he might fall into some hole and disappear. 

“To the left,” cried Hector. 

He turned towards the left; but, getting deeper and 
deeper, he stopped again, frightened out of his wits, and 
not even having the courage to go back. He began to 
deplore his fate. 

“Come give me a hand. I’m certain there are some 
holes here. I feel tliem,” he said. 

“To the right! Monsieur Chabre, to the right!” 
cried Hector again. 

The poor man looked so comical in the midst of the 


182 


SHRIMPING. 


water, with his net over his shoulder and his beautiful 
neck-tie, that Estelle and Hector could not help laugh- 
ing. At last he extricated himself, but he was very 
much upset, and said in a furious voice: 

“You know I can’t swim.” 

lie was now full of alarm about the return journey. 
When Hector told him that they must not be caught by 
the tide on the rocks he became very uneasy. 

“ You’ll warn me, won’t you? ” he said. 

“Oh, don’t be alarmed; I’ll answer for you.’^ 

Then they began to fish, thrusting their narrow nets 
into all the holes. Estelle took a woman’s delight in it. 
She it was who took the first shrimps, three. great red 
fellows who leaped about violently at the bottom of her 
net. With loud cries she called Hector to her help, for 
these lively creatures alarmed her ; but when she saw 
that they did not move again after being taken hold of 
by the head, she grew bold, and managed to slip them 
herself into the little basket which she carried slung 
across her shoulder. Occasionally she brought up a 
bunch of sea-weed, and searched amongst it, when a 
little noise like the beating of wings told her that there 
were some shrimps there. She picked the weeds over 
daintily, throwing them away by little handfuls, and not 
feeling very comfortable at the sight of the tangle of 
strange leaves, soft and slippery like dead fish. From 
time to time she looked into her basket, impatiently 
wishing to see it full. 

“It’s an odd thing,” Monsieur Chabre kept saying; 
“I can’t catch one.” 

As he dared not venture between the clefts of the 


SHRIMPING. 


183 


rocks, and was, moreover, very mucli hampered by his 
boots, which were full of water, he thrust his net under 
the sand and merely cauglit some crabs, five, eight, ten 
at a time. He was terribly frightened at them, and 
made desperate struggles to get them out of his net. 
Every now and tlien be turned round, uneasily, to see 
whether the sea was still going out. 

‘•Are you certain it’s going out?” he would say to 
Hector. 

The latter contented himself with nodding his head. 
He was fishing like a man who knows all the best 
spots, and consequently he brought out handfuls of 
shrimps at each cast. Whenever he Avas near Estelle 
he put his take in her basket, whilst she laughed and 
made signs in her husband’s direction, placing her fin- 
gers on her lips. She looked charming, bending over the 
long Avooden handle, or holding her fair head over the 
net to see Avhat was in it. A breeze was blowing, and 
the Avater dripping from the meshes covered her with a 
fine spray, whilst her bathing costume, now fluttering, 
now clinging to her, showed off the elegance of her 
dainty figure. 

They had been fishing like this for tAvo hours, Avhen 
Estelle, with her fair carls Avet Avith perspiration, 
stopped for a moment to recover her breath. Around her 
the immense desert Avas lying in sovereign peace ; only 
the sea Avas shivering and murmuring in a voice Avhich 
rose and fell. The sky, glowing in the afternoon sun, 
was of a pale blue, almost gray; but in spite of this 
furnace-like color, there was no heat, for a freshness 
rose from the water and swept the dazzling ether. 


184 


SHRIMPING. 


What interested Estelle the most was that on the 
horizon, on every rock, she saw a multitude of objects 
which stood out black and distinct. Thej'’ were shrimp- 
ers like themselves, but looking inconceivably small, 
not larger than ants, ridiculous in their nothingness 
amid the immensity around them. Their least move- 
ments were plainly visible, their backs rounded when 
they thrust their nets along, or their arms stretched out 
and moving like flies’ legs, when they sorted their take, 
throwing av»^ay the weeds and crabs. 

“I’m certain the water is rising!” cried Monsieur 
Chabre in perfect agony. “Look!” he added, “that 
rock was uncovered just now.” 

“Of course it’s rising,” cried Hector, impatiently. 
“It’s precisely when it’s rising that the most shrimps 
are to be caught.” 

But Monsieur Chabre had lost his head. In his last 
cast he had captured a strange fish, a sea- devil, which 
])errectly terrified him with its monstrous head. He 
had had enough of it. 

“ Let’s go I let’s go ! ” he repeated. “ It’s stupid to be 
so rash.” 

“ Don’t you understand that the fishing is better when 
the tide’s coming in?” replied his wife. 

“ And it is coming in! ” added Hector in a half whis- 
per, with his eyes full of mischief. 

The waves were, in fact, growing higher, encroaching 
upon the rocks with an ever-increasing clamor, and now 
and again a sudden gush of water covered all at once a 
whole spit of land. It was the conquering sea, taking 
back foot by foot the domain which it had swept with 


SHRIMPING. 


185 


its storms for centuries past. Estelle had discovered a 
puddle full of long weeds as flexible as hair, and she was 
catching enormous shrimps in the water there, throwing 
up the sand and leaving a furrow behind her like that 
of a plough. She proved obstinate, and nothing could 
tear her from it. 

“Well, I’m going!” cried Monsieur Chabre, half-cry- 
ing. “ There’s no sense in it ; we shall never escape to 
tell the tale.” 

And off he went, despairingly sounding the depth of 
the holes with the handle of his net. When he had 
gone two or three hundred yards, Hector at last per- 
suaded Estelle to follow. 

“The water will be up to our shoulders,” he said, 
smiling. 

“ A regular bath for Monsieur Chabre. Look how 
he’s sinking already.” 

Since turning back the young man’s face had worn the 
sly and anxious look of a lover who has determined to 
make a declaration and dares not do so. Whilst putting 
the shrimps in Estelle’s basket he had done his best 
to clasp her fingers.. But he was plainly vexed at his 
own want of boldness. If Monsieur Chabre had been 
drowned, he would have been delighted, for Monsieur 
Chabre was in his way. 

“ Ho you know,” he said, suddenly, “ you ought to get 
on my back, and I’ll carry you, otherwise you will be 
drenched. Come along, jump up.” 

lie stooped down, but she refused, awkward and blush- 
ing. But he laid hold of her, saying that he was re- 
sponsible for her safety, and so she clambered up, pla- 


186 


SHRIMPING. 


cing her hands on his shoulders. Firm as a rock, and 
straightening his back, he seemed to have merely a 
bird on his neck. Telling her to hold fast, he plunged 
with long strides into the water. 

“To the right, isn’t it. Monsieur Hector?” cried the 
doleful voice of Monsieur Chabre, who had the water up 
to his middle. 

“Yes, still to the right.” 

Then, as the husband turned his back, trembling with 
fear as he felt the sea mount to his armpits. Hector 
ventured to kiss one of the little hands on his shoulders. 
Estelle tried to withdraw it, but he told her not to move, 
or else he would not answer for the consequences, and he 
then again began to cover her hands with kisses. They 
were cool and salt, and he inhaled from them the briny 
delights of the ocean. 

“Don’t, please,” said Estelle, putting on an angry air. 
“You are taking a strange advantage. I shall jump 
into the water if you do it again.” 

He did it again, however, and she did not jump. He 
clasped her tightly by the ankles and devoured her 
hands, without saying a word, only watching what 
remained of Monsieur Chabre’s back — a little bit of 
back which threatened to disappear at every step. 

“ Did you say to the right? ” implored the husband. 

“ To the left, if you like.” 

Monsieur Chabre then took a step to the left, and 
uttered a cry. lie had gone in up to the neck, and his 
cravat was afloat. Then Hector made his confession. 

“ I love you,” said he. 

“ Be quiet, sir, I command you.” 


SHRIMPING. 


187 


love you; I adore you. Until now my lips were 
closed, out of respect ” 

He did not look at her, but continued takiitg long 
strides, with the water up to his chest. Estelle could 
not restrain a loud laugh, so comical did the situation 
appear. 

“There, be quiet,’’ she continued, maternally, giving 
him a pat on the shoulder. “ Be good, and, above all, 
don’t fall.” 

This pat filled Hector with delight. And as the hus- 
band was still in distress : 

“ To the right now,” he cried, gayly. 

When they reached the shore Monsieur Chabre 
wanted to begin a long explanation. 

“ I was nearly drowned, upon my word ! It was my 
boots ” 

But Estelle opened her basket and showed it to him 
full of shrimps. 

“ What? You caught all those ! ” he cried in amaze- 
ment. “ What a good hand you are at it I ” 

“Oh,” she said, smiling, and looking at Hector, “I 
had a good master.” 


188 


THE CASTELLI ROCKS. 


CHAPTEE V. 

THE CASTELLI ROCKS. 

T he Chabres bad only two more days to stay at 
Piriac. Hector seemed in despair, and furious, 
albeit humble. As for Monsieur Cliabre, he consulted 
his health every morning, and appeared to feel per- 
plexed. 

“You can’t go away without seeing tbe Castelli 
rocks,” said Hector, one evening. “We ought to walk 
there to-morrow.” 

He proceeded to explain. The rocks were only a mile 
away. They ran along in the water for a mile-and-a- 
half, and were hollowed out with grottoes and worn by 
the waves. According to his account nothing could be 
wilder than the sight which they presented. 

“ Yery well, we’ll go to-morrow,” said Estelle, finally. 
“ Is the way there difficult ? ” 

“ No ; there are two or three places where you may 
wet your feet, but that’s all.” 

Monsieur Chabre, however, would not even wet his 
feet. He had had a perfect horror of the sea ever since 
his bath in it while shrimping ; so he showed himself 
very much averse to this project. It was ridiculous to 
risk one’s life in such a way. In the first place, he 
would not venture into the midst of those rocks, for he 
had no wish to break his legs in jumping about like a 
goat j he would accompany them by the top of the cliff 


THE CASTELLI ROCKS. 


189 


if it were absolutely necessary, and even that was a 
great concession. 

Hector suddenly thought of a good way of tranquil- 
lizing him. 

“Listen,” he said. “You will pass by the Castelli 
semaphore, and you can go in and buy some shell-fish 
of the men there. TheyVe almost always got some ‘ 
splendid ones which they sell for next to nothing.” 

“ That’s a good idea,” said Monsieur Chabre, recover- 
ing his temper. “ I’ll take a little basket with me, and 
I’ll have one more ‘ blow out.’ ” 

The next day they had to wait for low tide before set- 
ting out. Then, as Estelle was not ready, they waited, 
and, in fact, they did not start until five o’clock in the 
evening. However, Hector declared that they would 
not be overtaken by the high tide. Estelle put on some 
canvas shoes and a very short gray dress, which she 
looped up so as to show her dainty ankles. As for 
Monsieur Chabre, he was correctly attired in white 
trousers and an alpaca coat. He carried his sunshade 
and a little basket ,with the satisfied air of a Parisian 
who is going to do his own marketing. 

Until they reached the first rocks the way was a very 
difficult one. They had to walk along a stretch of drift- 
ing sand, into which the feet plunged at every step. 
The retired grain merchant snorted like a grampus. 

“ Well, I’m going to leave joi\. I’m going up on the 
cliffs,” he said at last. 

“That’s right; follow that path,” replied Hector. 
“You wouldn’t be able to get up further on. Do you 
want any help?” 


190 


THE CASTKLLl ROCKS. 


They watched him climb up to the summit of the 
cliff. When he arrived there he opened his sunshade, 
and swung his basket, calling oat : 

^ Here I am ; it’s better up here. But don’t be rash, 
mind. I shall keep my eye on yoii.’^ 

Hector and Estelle were soon among the rocks. The 
former, wearing high-laced boots, walked first, leaping 
from stone to stone with the active grace of a mountain 
hunter, Estelle, who was on her mettle, chose the same 
stones ; and when he turned round to ask her whether 
she would have a hand, she replied : 

“ Certainly not. Why, do you think that I’m already 
an old woman ? ” 

They were at that moment on a broad 'platform of 
granite, which the sea had washed and hollowed out 
into great clefts. One might have imagined one saw the 
bones of some monster piercing the sand, and displaying 
its shattered vertebrae. In every hollow streams of 
water trickled, and black weeds hung about like drip- 
ping hair. The pair went leaping along, balancing them- 
selves from time to time on the tops of the rocks, and 
screaming with laughter whenever a stone swaj^ed be- 
neath their weight. 

‘‘It’s like being at home,” said Estelle, gayly. “ You 
could put these rocks into a drawing-room.” 

“ W ait a little,” said Hector. “ You shall see. There’s 
something very different ahead of us.” 

They were reaching a narrow passage, a kind of rift, 
which yawned between two enormous blocks of stone. 
There, a pool — a watery space — barred the way. 

“ I shall never get across it,” cried Estelle. 


THE CASTELLI ROCKS. 


191 


Hector proposed to carry her, but she shook her head 
slowly ; she didn’t want to be carried any more. So he 
set to work to collect some large stones, and made a kind 
of bridge. The stones, however, slipped down, and fell 
into the water. 

“Give me your hand, and I’ll jump,” she cried at 
length, seized with impatience. 

But she did not jump far enough, and one of her feet 
alighted in the pool, at which they both laughed heart- 
il3^ Then, as they emerged from the narrow passage, 
Estelle uttered a cry of admiration. 

Before them there was a creek, filled with an enor- 
mous mass of rocks. Immense blocks were standing 
upright, like advanced sentinels posted in the midst of 
the waves. Along the cliffs the sea had eaten the land 
away, leaving only some bare masses of granite; and 
there were bays running in between promontories, dis- 
closing at every turn deep caverns, and ridges of black 
marble protruding from the sand, like great stranded 
fishes. The spot might have been likened to a cyclopean 
city, taken by assault and laid waste by the sea, with 
its ramparts overthrown, its towers half-demolished, its 
buildings piled one upon another. Hector pointed out 
to Estelle every nook in these storm-beaten ruins. She 
walked along, over sand as fine and yellow as powdered 
gold, over pebbles whose particles of mica glittered in 
the sunlight, over fallen rocks, where she had now and 
then to make use of both hands to prevent herself from 
falling. She passed under natural porticoes and tri- 
umphal arches, bearing the stamp of both Eoman and 
Gothic architecture. She descended into caverns filled 


192 


THE CASTHLLI ROCKS, 


with cool air, into lonely and spacious grottoes ; sLe 
gazed at the blue-tinted rocks, and the sombre weeds 
which dotted the gray walls of the clifis ; she watched 
the sea birds, little brown creatures, which flew about 
within reach of her hand, uttering a low and continuous 
twitter. But what delighted her, above all, was, when 
in the midst of the rocks, she turned round, and always 
beheld the sea, with its blue waters forever reappearing, 
and spreading out between each boulder in tranquil 
grandeur. 

“ Oh, there you are ! ” suddenly cried Monsieur Chabre, 
from the top of the cliff. “ I was frightened, I thought 
you were lost. I say, aren’t those caverns terrible ? ” 

He was prudently standing at half a dozen paces from 
the edge, with his sunshade over his head, and with his 
basket on his arm. 

“ It's coming in quick,” he added ; ‘‘ take care.” 

“Yv^c’ve plenty of time, don’t be alarmed,” replied 
Hector, quietly. 

Estelle, who had sat down, was silently gazing on the 
vast horizon. In front of her, three granite pillars, 
rounded by the waves, rose up like the giant columns of 
some ruined temple; and, beyond, the blue sea lay 
burnished in the golden evening glow. A little sail in 
the offing appeared between two pillars, looking, in its 
dazzling whiteness, like a gull skimming the water. 
From the pale sky the evening twilight was already 
falling. Never before had Estelle been pervaded with 
so great and tender a delight. 

“ Come,” said Hector, softly, at the same time laying 
his hand upon her shoulder. 


THE CASTELLI ROCKS. 


193 


Slie started and rose up, overcome with a languid 
feeliug of content. 

“That’s the semaphore, isn’t it? — that house with the 
masts,” cried Monsieur Chabre. “ I’m going to fetch 
my shell-fish. I’ll overtake you.” 

Then Estelle, in order to shake off the feeling of lassi- 
tude which had laid hold of her, began to run about like 
a child. She leaped over the pools of water and rushed 
towards the sea, being seized with a desire to mount to 
the summit of a heap of rocks which remained above 
water at high tide. And when, after a laborious climb 
amongst the clefts, she reached the top, she clambered 
on to the highest spot, and felt delighted at dominating 
the scene of gloomy desolation around her. Her slender 
outline stood out against the clear sky, and her skirts 
fluttered in the wind like a flag. 

On coming down, she peered into all the holes that she 
came across. In the smallest cavities there were little 
calm and sleeping lakes, with water whose perfect clear- 
ness showed the reflection of the sky as in a mirror. 
Down below, weeds of emerald green grew like minia- 
ture forests, and great black crabs leaped like frogs, and 
disappeared without even rippling the water. Estelle 
stood thoughtful, as if she were gazing upon mysterious 
lands, upon unknown and delightful countries. 

When they returned to the foot of the cliffs she saw 
that Hector had filled his handkerchief with limpets. 

“ They’re for Monsieur Chabre,” said he ; “ I’m going 
to take them up to him.” 

Just at that moment, indeed. Monsieur Chabre came 
back in a state of despair. 

12 


194 


THE CASTELLI ROCKS, 


“They haven’t a single mussel at the semaphore,” he 
cried. “I didn't want to come; you see I was quite 
right ” 

But when Hector showed him in the distance the con- 
tents of his handkerchief, he became happy again, and 
he stood amazed at the agility with which the young 
man clambered up, by a path known to himself alone, 
over rocks which looked as steep as walls. The descent 
was more foolhardy still. 

“ It’s nothing,” said Hector, “ it’s a regular staircase, 
only you want to know where the steps are.” 

Monsieur Chabre now wished to go back. The sea 
was rising, and he implored his wife at any rate to come 
up upon the cliff, there must surely be some easy way to 
reach it. The young man laughed, saying that there was 
no way for ladies, and that they must go to the end now. 
And, besides, they had not seen the grottoes. Upon this. 
Monsieur Chabre had to resign himself, and followed the 
path at tlie top of the cliff. As the sun was going down, 
he closed his shade and used it as a walking-stick. In 
the other hand he still carried his basket of limpets. 

“Are you tired?” asked Hector, gently. 

“Yes, a little,” replied Estelle. 

She took his arm. She was not tired, but a delicious 
feeling of lassitude was creeping upon her. The excite- 
ment which she had just felt, on seeing the young man 
clinging to the face of the rocks, had caused a kind of flut- 
ter within her. They walked slowly along the beach. 
Beneath their feet the shingle, formed mainly of frag- 
ments of shells, crunched like a garden walk. They did 
not speak. At last Hector pointed out to her two broad 


THE CASTELLI ROCKS. 


195 


fissures, “The Mad Monk’s Hole,” and “The Cat’s 
Grotto.” Estelle entered, raised her eyes, and shuddered. 
When they continued on their way over beautiful, fine 
sand, they looked at one another, and remained still 
mute and smiling. The sea was coming in with short, 
rattling waves, but they did not hear it. Monsieur Cha- 
bre, over their heads, began to shout to them, but they 
did not hear him either. 

“ Why, it’s madness ! ” cried the retired grain merchant, 
waving his sunshade and his basket of limpets. “Estelle! 
Monsieur Hector! — listen, you’ll be drowned. The 
water’s up to your feet already.” 

But they did not feel the coolness of the little wave- 
lets advancing upon them. 

“ Well, what is it? ” said Estelle at last. 

“ Oh, it’s you. Monsieur Chabre,” said the young man. 
“It’s all right, don’t be afraid. We’ve only got ‘Ma- 
dame’s Grotto ’ to look at.” 

Monsieur Chabre, however, made a gesture of despair, 
and remarked : 

“ It’s simple madness! You’ll be drowned.” 

But they were out of hearing again. In order to 
escape from the rising sea, they stepped over the rocks, 
and finally reached “Madame’s Grotto.” It was an 
excavation in a block of granite, which formed a prom- 
ontory. The roof, which was very lofty, was dome- 
shaped, and during the storms the water had polished 
the walls which shone like agate. Pink and blue veins 
formed arabesques of magnificent and barbaric appear- 
ance, as if some savage artists had adorned this bath- 
room of the queens of the sea. Under foot, the shingle. 


196 


THE CASTELLI ROCKS. 


which was still damp, was of a transparence which made 
it look like a bed of precious atones. At the far end 
there was a ridge of sand, soft and dry, and of such a 
pale yellow that it seemed almost white. 

Estelle had sat down on this sand, and was examining 
the grotto. 

“ One could live here,” she answered. 

But Hector, who seemed to have been watching the 
sea for the last few minutes, suddenly pretended to 
become extremely alarmed. 

‘‘Goodness! we’re caught! The sea has cut us off. 
We shall have two hours to wait.” 

lie went out and looked up for Monsieur Chabre. 
The latter was on the cliff, just above the grotto, and 
when Hector told him that they were cut off : 

“ What did I tell you? ” he cried, triumphantly; “ but 
you wouldn’t listen to me. Is there any danger ? ” 

“None at all,” replied Hector. “ There’ll only be five 
or six inches of water in the grotto. Don’t be alarmed, 
but we can’t get out for two hours.” 

Monsieur Chabre was angry. Then they would have 
no dinner? He was hungry already! Well, this was a 
pretty affair ! He sat down, grumbling, on the stubbly 
grass, set his sunshade on his left side and his basket of 
prawns on his right. 

“ I suppose I must wait,” he said. “Well, go back to 
my wife, and take care she doesn’t catch cold.” 

Hector sat down in the grotto at Estelle’s side. After 
a moment’s silence, he ventured to take hold of her 
hand, which she did not withdraw. She was gazing out 
to sea. Twilight was gathering, and a golden dust was 


THE CASTELLI KOCKS. 


197 


gradually veiling tlie sun. On the horizon tlie sky 
assumed a delicate pale violet tint, and the dusky sea 
stretched away, with never a sail upon its bosom. 
Gradually the water crept into the grotto, laving the 
transparent sb ingle with a gentle sound. It brought 
with it the delights of the ocean, its caressing murmur, 
its intoxicating odor. 

“ Estelle, I love you,” said Hector, kissing her hands. 

She did not reply; she seemed as if stifled. 

Suddenly Monsieur Chabi’e’s voice reached them, 
hardly audible, and as if coming from the sky: 

“ Aren’t you hungry ? I’m famished. Luckily I’ve 
got my knife. I’m having a snack.” 

“ I lovG you, Estelle,” said Hector again. 

The night was dark, the white sea lighted up the 
heavens. At the entry of the grotto the waves gave 
vent to their long plaint, whilst beneath the vaulted 
roof the last ray of daylight faded away. Estelle let 
her head fall on Hector’s shoulders. 

Above, by the light of the stars, Monsieur Chabre 
was methodically eating his limpets without bread, for 
he had none ; and he swallowed them all, careless as to 
the attack of indigestion which might be instore for him. 


Some months after their return to Paris, when pretty 
Madame Chabre presented her husband with a son and 
heir, Monsieur Chabre was in a state of high glee. He 
thanked Doctor Guiraud effusively for having sent him 
to the seaside, and has ever since remained a firm be- 
liever in the peculiar virtues of shell-fish. 


MARGOT’S GALLANT, 

BY £MILE ZOLA. 


CHAPTEE I. 

THE MAHES AND THE FLOCHES. 
OQUEVILLE is a little village situated in a cleft 



Ay of the rocks, some two miles from Grandport, 
with a fine sandy beach, stretching out before the hcmses 
wliich cling half-way up the side of the cliff, like shells 
left there by the tide. From the heights of Grandport, 
towards the west, the smooth yellow sand can be clearly 
discerned, looking like a stream of gold dust issuing 
from the cloven rocks, and any one with good eyes can 
even distinguish the reddish -colored houses and the 
blue smoke curling from their chimneys and floating 
upwards above the lofty clifi*. 

It is a deserted spot, and the inhabitants have never 
reached the number of two hundred. The ravine which 
opens onto the beach, and at the beginning of which the 
village lies, is so winding and so very narrow, that it is 
almost impossible to pass through it except on foot. 
This cuts off most communication and isolates the little 
village, which might be a hundred miles from the neigh- 
boring hamlets. Nearly all the inhabitants are fisher- 
men, gaining their livelihood from the sea, and each day 


( 198 ) 


THE MAKES AND THE FLOCHES. 


199 


they go to Grandport by water, taking with them their 
fish, which one big firm — that of Dufeu & Co. — buys by 
the catch. M. Dufeu has been dead some years, but his 
widow carries on the business with the assistance of a 
manager, M. Mouchel, a tall, fair man who has to make 
all the arrangements with the fishermen. This M. 
Mouchel is the one link between Coqueville and the 
civilized world. 

The history of Coqueville is worthy of being related. 
It seems certain that, some time during the Middle Ages, 
the village was founded by the Mahe family who estab- 
lished themselves and prospered exceedingly at the foot 
of the cliff. They must always have intermarried, as 
for centuries there is no mention of any one besides the 
Mahes in the place. Then, during the reign of Louis 
XIII., a man named Floche appeared upon the scene. It 
is not exactly known whence he came, but he married a 
Mahd girl, and from that moment a phenomenon was 
witnessed — the Floches prospered in their turn, and mul- 
tiplied to such an extent that they gradually absorbed the 
Mahes, whose number diminished, and whose fortune 
passed into the hands of the new-comers. No doubt the 
Floches had the advantage of possessing fresher blood, 
more vigorous physiques, and temperaments which were 
better adapted to the inclemency of wind and waves. 
At any rate, now-a-days the Floches are the masters of 
Coqueville. 

It can be understood that this displacement of posi- 
tion and wealth was not accomplished without many ter- 
rible struggles. The Mah^s and the Floches cordially 
hate one another. In spite of their fall, the Mahes are 


200 


THE MAKES AND THE FLOCHES. 


still proud of having been the first conquerors and rulers 
of the place, and they speak in terms of contempt of the 
first Floche as a beggar, a vagrant whom they had taken 
ill and sheltered from pity, and to whom, to their eternal 
regret, they had given one of their poor daughters. 
According to them, the descendants of this Floche have 
never been anything bat libertines and thieves; and with 
the bitter rage of ruined, fallen nobles who see the brats 
of their inferiors lording it over their chateaux and 
lands, there is no insult that the Mahds do not heap 
upon the powerful tribe of Floche. 

Naturally, the Floches, on their side, are insolently tri- 
umphant. They jeer at the ancient race of Mah^, and 
swear that they will drive the others from the village if 
they do not bow to their rule. In their eyes the older 
family are good-for-nothings, who would do better to 
mend their rags rather than proudly drape them round 
their shoulders; and thus CoqUeville is divided into two 
fanatic factions — that is to say, about a hundred and 
thirty of the inhabitants are quite determined to demol- 
ish the other fifty, simply because they are the stronger. 
A struggle between two empires is carried on upon 
exactly the same lines. 

Amongst the most recent quarrels which have shaken 
Coqueville, people quote the famous enmity between the 
two brothers, Fouasse and Tupain, and the noisy battles 
of the Eouget household. It must be stated that each 
inhabitant formerly received a nickname, which, with 
time, has become a regular family surname, but it is dif- 
ficult to find one’s way amidst the labyrinth of mar- 
riages between the Mahes and the Floches. Eouget cer- 


THE MAHfe AND THE FLOCHES. 


201 


tainly did have an ancestor of ruddy hair and complex- 
ion, but one cannot account for such names as Fouasse 
and Tupain, for many cognomens lost all sense as time 
passed on. 

Now, old Frangoise, a jolly old woman of eighty, still 
living, had had Fouasse by a Mahd, then, her husband 
dying, she had taken a Floche as her second partner, 
and had given birth to Tupain. Hence came the hatred 
between the two brothers, which was all the more lively 
on account of a dispute about some inheritance. The 
Eougets, too, were always fighting, because Eouget ac- 
cused Marie, his wife, of being too fond of a big, dark 
Floche, named Brisemotte, upon whom he, Eouget (a 
little nervous man), had already twice dashed, knife 
in hand, swearing that he would cut his heart out. 

However, Coqueville’s chief object of interest was 
neither Eouget ’s hot passions nor the arguments between 
Tupain and Fouasse. There was a much more import- 
ant rumor about, namely, that Delphin, a young fellow 
of about twenty, and a Mah^, had dared to fall in love 
with Margot, the daughter of La Queue, who was the 
richest of the Floches, and mayor of the village. lie 
was called La Queue {i, e.. Pig-tail) because his father 
had, in Louis Philippe’s time, been the last to wear his 
hair plaited, with the obstinate determination of an old 
man clinging to the fashions of his youth. 

Now, La Queue owned one of tlie two biggest fishing- 
boats in Coqueville, the Zephir (Zephyr), which was by 
far the best of all the smacks, and still new and in per- 
fect order. The other large boat, the Baleine (Whale), 
a leaking pinnace, belonged to Eouget, and was manned 


202 


THE MAKES AND THE FLOCHES. 


by Delpliin and Fouasse, while Tupain and Brlsemotte 
went with La Queue. Tupain and Brisemotte were 
never tired of laughing contemptuously at the Baleine^ 
an old tub, so they said, which would some day disap- 
pear beneath the waves like a handful of mud. So when 
La Queue learned that that vagabond Delphin, belong- 
ing to the Baleine^ was daring to hang about his daughter, 
Margot, he gave the latter two sounding smacks, simply 
to warn her that she should never be the wife of a 
Mahe. 

Margot, in a furious rage, vowed that she would pass 
on the blows to Delphin if he ever came near her, for it 
was, indeed, aggravating to be clouted on account of a 
fellow she never even looked at. Margot, who at six- 
teen was as strong as a man, and as handsome as a fully 
developed woman, was said to be very hard on any one 
who made love to her, and to hold sweethearts in con- 
tempt. So one can understand the amount of gossip that 
went on in Coqueville about Dolphin’s audacity, and the 
two smacks that Margot had received. 

Still, there were some who said that Margot, in her 
heart, was not really so very angry at seeing Delphin 
come after her. He was a short, fair fellow, with a 
tanned skin, long thick hair, and very strong, in spite of 
his slender figure — quite capable, indeed, of beating a 
man three times his size. It was said that sometimes 
he went off to have a spree at Grandport, and this gave 
him a somewhat disreputable name among the girls, who 
accused him, amongst themselves, of living a fast life — a 
vague expression which denoted any and every unknown 
pleasure. 


THE MAHES AND THE FLOCHES. 


203 


Whenever Margot spoke of Delphin she waxed wrath- 
ful, but he always smiled knowingly, and gazed calmly 
at her with his small, bright eyes, not troubling himself 
in the least either about her contempt or her anger. He 
walked up and down before her house, and stealthily fol- 
lowed her under cover of the brambles and thickets, 
watching her for hours with the patience and the cun- 
ning of a cat after a mouse. When she suddenly found 
him behind her, so close that the warmth of his breath 
had betrayed him, he did not take to his heels, but put 
on a gentle, sorrowful air, which took Margot by sur- 
prise, and made her forget her anger until he was a long 
way off again. If her father had seen her then he would 
certainly have hit her. This state of affairs could not 
last long, and yet Margot seemed to have sworn to no 
purpose that Delphin should one day have the smacks 
she had promised him, for she never seized the oppor- 
tunity of bestowing them when he was there; and peo- 
ple said she should not talk about doing it so much, as 
in the end she would keep the buffets for herself. 

No one ever dreamed that she could possibly become 
Delphin’s wife, for a marriage between the most beggarly 
of all the Mahes — a fellow who had not six shirts to his 
back — and the mayor’s daughter, who would be the 
richest of the Floches, seemed simply monstrous and 
absurd. Ill-disposed people said that she might keep 
company with him, but she would never marry him. A 
rich girl can choose as she pleases. In short, all Coque- 
ville was interested in the affair, and felt anxious to 
know how things would end. Would Delphin have his 
ears boxed? Or would Margot allow herself to be 


204 


THE MAKES AND THE FLOCHES. 


kissed in some quiet comer among the rocks? That 
was what time alone would prove, but pending the 
result Coqueville was in a state of civil war, some being 
for the blow and others for the kiss. 

Two people only, in the village, sided neither with 
the Makes nor the Floches, and those were the priest and 
the rural constable. The latter — a tall, thin man, whose 
real name no one seemed to know, but who was called 
the Emperor, no doubt because he had served under 
Charles X. — -did not exercise in reality the slightest sur- 
veillance over the land belonging to the State, which, in 
fact, consisted chiefly of bare rocks and barren fields ; a 
sub-prefect, who befriended him, had created this sine- 
cure for his benefit, and he peacefully lived on his micro- 
scopical salary. As for the Abbe Eadiguet, he was one 
of those simple-minded priests whom the bishops are 
only too glad to get rid of by burying them in some for- 
saken village. He lived the life of an honest peasant, 
tilling the small garden he had managed to form on the 
rock, and smoking his pipe as he watched the growth of 
his vegetables. His only fault was his greediness — a 
greediness which did not long for dainties, but was con- 
fined to eating mackerel and drinking sometimes more 
cider than was good for him. Still, he was, indeed, a 
father to his parishioners, and every now and then they 
came to hear mass just by way of pleasing him. 

However, the priest and the constable were in the end 
forced to take sides after succeeding in remaining neu- 
tral so long. Now, the Emperor stood up for the Mah^s, 
while the Abb^ Eadiguet lent his support to the Floches, 
and thence arose various complications. As the Em- 


THE MAHES AND THE FLOCHES. 


205 


peror had nothing to do from morning to night, and at 
last got tired of counting the boats leaving Grandport, 
he had constituted himself the village detective, and, 
since becoming a partisan of the Mahes, he upheld 
Fouasse against Tupain, tried to surprise Eouget’s wife 
with Brisemotte, and, above all else, closed his eyes 
whenever he saw Delphin slip into the court-yard of Mar- 
got’s house. The worst of all this was that it led to 
violent quarrels between the Emperor and his natural 
superior, the Mayor La Queue. In his respect for disci- 
pline, the former listened to all the latter’s reprimands, 
and then went and did exactly the same as before, thus 
disorganizing public authority in Coqueville. It was 
impossible to pass before the barn, which was termed by 
courtesy the municipal building, without being half-deaf- 
ened by the noise of a dispute. The Abbe Radiguet, on 
the other hand, now that he had reinforced the ranks of 
the Floches (who showered superb mackerel upon him), 
stealthily encouraged Eouget’s wife in the resistance she 
made to her husband, and threatened Margot with the 
infernal flames if she ever dared to allow Delphin to 
touch her with the tip of his finger. It was simply utter 
anarchy — the army in revolt against civil authority, 
religion winking at the misdeeds of the well-to-do, and 
a whole nation, numbering a hundred and eighty souls, 
ready to eat each other up in their mouse-hole, situated 
between the immense sea and the infinite vastness of the 
sky.' 

Delphin was th-e only one who still smiled amiably in 
the midst of this general agitation, for he only cared 
about Margot. He laid snares for her much as if he 


206 


THE STRANGE CATCH. 


had been trying to catch a rabbit, and he aimed at get- 
ting the priest to marry them. 

One evening Margot found him watching for her in 
a lane, and then at last she raised her hand to strike. 
But she suddenly turned very red, for, without waiting 
for the blow to fall, Delphin had seized the hand which 
threatened him, and was passionately kissing it. 

She began to tremble, while he whispered to her: 

“ I love you. Will you have me ? ” 

“Never! ” she cried, in revolt at the idea. 

Delphin shrugged his shoulders, then went on in a 
quiet, tender voice: 

“Don’t say that. We should suit each other very 
well, and you’d see how nice it would be.” 

: o : 

CHAPTER II 

THE STRANGE CATCH. 

T hat Sunday was a terrible day. One of those sud- 
den September storms, which set such awful tem- 
pests raging round the rocky coast of Grandport, had 
arisen; and, as the light began to fade, a ship in distress 
was espied from Coqueville. But the darkness was 
increasing, and it was not possible to attempt to render 
any aid. The Zepliir and the -Bafeme had been anchored, 
since the evening before, in the little natural harbor 
lying between two granite walls to the left of the beach, 
neither La Queue nor Eouget daring to go out in such 


THE STRANGE CATCH. 


207 


weather, which was especially to be regretted, as M. Mou- 
chel, Madame Dufeu’s representative, had taken the 
trouble to come in person, on the Saturday, to offer them 
particularly good terms if they would make every effort, 
and work hard, for the catches had not been very good 
lately, and the markets were complaining. 

So Coqueville muttered and grumbled as it went to 
bed that Sunday evening, with the torrents of rain pour- 
ing down around it. It was the old, old tale; whenever 
fish was not to be got from the sea, orders came in. 
Between its grumblings, the village talked of the ship 
which had been seen driving before the wind, and which, 
by now, must certainly be lying at the bottom cf tlie sea. 

On the following day, Monday, the sky was still over- 
cast, and the sea still ran high, and obstinately refused 
to become calmer, although the wind had fallen. It 
ceased blowing entirely, but the waves still dashed on. 
Then, towards the afternoon, the two boats put out, in 
spite of everything. At about four o’clock, the Zephir 
returned, having caught nothing ; and while Tupain and 
Brisemotte anchored it in the little harbor. La Queue 
stood on the beach, shaking his fist at the ocean in his 
exasperation. Was not M. Mouchel waiting? he said. 
Margot was there — with half Coqueville, indeed — watch- 
ing the furious billows, and sharing her father’s rancor 
against sea and sky. 

‘‘But where’s the Baleine ? ” asked some one. 

“Down there behind that point,” replied La Queue. 
“ And if that old tub returns to-day without being 
smashed, it will be by sheer good luck.” 

lie spoke in tones of great contempt, and then he let 


208 


THE STRANGE CATCH. 


it be understood that it was all very well for the Mah^s 
to risk their lives in that fashion ; it didn’t so much 
matter when a man hadn’t a copper to call his own ; but 
for his part, he would rather fail in his promise to M. 
Mouchel. 

All this was said while Margot stood observing the 
rocks, behind which the Baleine was supposed to be. 

Father,” she said at last, “have they taken any- 
thing ? ” 

“ They ! ” he cried. “ Not a thing ! ” 

He restrained himself as he caught sight of the Em- 
peror smiling, and then went on more softly : 

“ I don’t know whether they have caught anything or 
not ; but as they never do catch anything ” 

“ Perhaps, though, they have caught something to- 
day,^’ said the Emperor, maliciously. “Such things 
have happened before now.” 

La Queue was on the point of making an angry reply, 
but the Abbe Eadiguet came up at that moment, and 
succeeded in soothing him. He, the Abbe, had just seen 
the Baleine from the roof of the church, and the boat 
seemed to be after some big fish. This news caused 
great excitement. The group on the beach comprised 
both Mahds and Floches, the former wishing that the 
boat would return with a marvellous catch, the others 
praying that it might come in empty. 

Margot was standing perfectly erect, attentively watch- 
ing the sea. 

“ Here they are,” she said, quietly. 

There was, indeed, a black speck coming round the 
point, towards which they all turned their eyes. It 


THE STRANGE CATCH. 


209 


looked like a cork dancing on the water, and the Em- 
peror, whose eyesight was failing, could not see even 
that much. It needed a native of Coqueville to recog- 
nize the Baleine and its crew at such a distance. 

“Why,’’ cried Margot, who had the best e3^es in the 
village. “ Fouasse and Kouget are rowing, and the boy 
is standing in the bows.” 

She called Delphin “ the boy ” to avoid mentioning 
his name. After that every one watched the boat and 
tried to account for its strange movements. As the 
priest had said, it appeared to be after some fish which 
had fled before it. That seemed extraordinary, but the 
Emperor declared that no doubt the fish had carried the 
net away with it. At that La Queue exclaimed that 
they were idle rogues, and were only amusing them- 
selves. They certainly were not fishing for sea-wolves ! 
All the Floches laughed at this joke, while the Mah^s, 
in their vexation, protested that Ilouget w^as a plucky 
fellow, ever ready to risk his life, when others would 
rather make for land at the least capful of wind. The 
Abbe Eadiguet had again to interfere, for matters 
threatened to come to blows. 

“What is the matter with them ? ” exclaimed Margot^ 
suddenly. “ They’ve gone off again.” 

Every one then ceased to menace his neighbor, ^nd 
all eyes were turned to the horizon. The PaleAne was 
again hidden behind the point, and this time La Queue 
himself became uneasy. lie could not account for such 
manoeuvres, and the fear that Rougetwas really catching 
some fish made him lose all control over himself. 

No one left the beach, though there was nothing to be 

13 


210 


THE STRANGE CATCH. 


seen, and for two hours the group stood there waiting 
for the boat, which came just in sight from time to 
time, and then again disappeared. At last it did not 
reappear at all, and La Queue in his rage declared that 
it had gone to the bottom, really wishing tliat it might 
be so. As Eouget’s wife happened to be there with 
Brisemotte, the mayor looked at them both with a 
chuckle, and patted Tupain on the shoulder to console 
him for the death of his brother Fouasse. But his 
laughter ceased when he saw his daughter Margot stand- 
ing still and silent, gazing out to sea. Perhaps things 
were looking up for Delphi n. 

“What are you doing here? ” he scolded. “Get back 
to the house, Margot, and you’d better take care what 
you’re up to.” 

She did not move, but suddenly exclaimed . 

“ Ah ! Here they are I ” 

' There was a cry of surprise, for Margot vowed she 
could not see a soul on board, neither Eouget, nor Fou- 
asse, nor anybody ! The Baleine was running before the 
wind as though forsaken, tacking at every minute, and 
lazily rocking from side to side. Fortunately a westerly 
wind had arisen and was driving the boat towards land, 
though in a strange zig-zag fashion. Then all Coque- 
ville went down on tlie beach, some calling the oth- 
ers, until there was not a girl left in all the houses to 
loolc after the dinner. There was some catastrophe, 
something inexplicable, which turned everybody’s head. 
Marie, Eouget’s wife, thought she ought to burst into 
tears, and did so; Tupain only succeeded in putting on 
an air of sorrow, and all the Mahes began lamenting ; 


THE STRANGE CATCH. 


211 


while the Floches tried to dissimulate their delight. 
Margot had sat down as if her limbs had given way 
under her. 

“ What are you up to now? cried La Queue, as he 
found her under his feet. 

“ I am tired,’’ she answered, quietly. 

And she turned her face towards the sea, her cheeks 
in her hands and her eyes hidden by the tips of her 
fingers, as she gazed at the boat which was rocking still 
more lazily, like a good-tempered craft that has drunk 
too much. 

Different suppositions were still forthcoming. Per- 
haps the three men had fallen into the water, only it 
seemed odd that they should all have fallen in together. 
La Queue would have liked to make every one believe 
that the Baleine had gone to pieces like a rotten egg, 
but the boat was still floating, and people shrugged their 
shoulders at the mayor’s words. Then suddenly the 
latter remembered that he was the mayor, and he spoke 
of the formalities that would have to be gone through, 
as if the men had really perished. 

‘‘ Don’t talk like that! ” cried the Emperor. ‘‘ Do peo- 
ple ever die in such a stupid, senseless fasliion? If they 
had fallen into the water, little Delphin would have been 
here by now.” 

All Coqueville was obliged to own that little Delphin 
swam like a fish, but then where could the three men 
be ? There were cries of: “ I tell you they are drowned ! ” 
“I tell you they’re not!” ‘‘You great fool!” “Fool 
yourself! ’' and sundry blows were also exchanged. 

Tlie Abbd Radiguet had to entreat his parishioners 


212 


THE STRANGE CATCH. 


not to quarrel, and tlie Emperor proceeded to restore 
order by pushing everybody about. All this while the 
boat was dancing on the waves in sight of every one; 
the tide, which was bringing it in, making it salute the 
shore in long, measured bows — the craft had certainly 
gone mad. 

Margot was still sitting with her cheeks between her 
hands, watching it, A skiff had just put out from the 
harbor to go and meet the Baleine, It was Brisemotte 
who had had this idea, for he was too impatient to wait 
any longer, and wanted to relieve the suspense of Eou- 
get's wife. Then every one’s interest was centred in the 
smaller boat, and voices were raised and became excited. 
Well! could Brisemotte see anything? The Baleine 
still coming on, in its mysterious, facetious way, and at 
last, from the shore, they saw Brisemotte rise and look 
into the fishing-boat, one of the ropes of which he had 
caught hold of. All the people on the beach held their 
breath, but suddenly Brisemotte burst out laughing. 
That Avas, indeed, a surprise ; what could there be to 
amuse him? 

“ What is it? what is it? ” shouted every one at the 
top of their voices. 

He said nothing in reply, but laughed still louder, and 
made signs to them that they would soon see for them- 
selves what the matter was. Then, tying the Baleine to 
his boat, he towed it to land, and Coqueville was stupe- 
fied by a totally unexpected sight. 

Rouget, Delphin and Fouasse were lying on their 
backs at the bottom of the craft, snoring heavily, and 
dead drunk. Beside them there was a little staved-in 


THE STRANGE CATCH. 


213 


cask, a cask which they had found full, and the contents 
of which they had tasted. Whatever it had contained 
had no doubt been very good, for they had drunk every 
drop, except about a pint which had run out, and was 
now mixed with some sea- water in the boat. 

“ Oh, the pig ! ” cried Eouget’s wife roughly, drying 
her eyes. 

W ell, their catch is something to be proud of,” said 
La Queue, affecting great disgust. 

‘‘Well!” replied the Emperor, “people catch what 
they can get, and at any rate they have caught a cask, 
while others have caught nothing at all.” 

The mayor was greatly put out, but he said no more. 
All Coqueville was talking; they understood it now. 
When boats are tipsy they reel about like men, and that 
one was, indeed, full of liquor. Coqueville then laughed 
and gave way to its ill-temper — the Mahes thinking the 
incident very droll, while the Floches thought it disgust- 
ing. Both factions crowded round the Baleine^ their 
necks stretched out and their eyes wide opened to look 
at these three jubilant- faced men, who slept calmly on, 
unconscious of the crowd leaning over them. The scold- 
ing and the laughter did not disturb them in the slight- 
est degree ; Eouget did not hear his wife accuse him of 
always drinking all he could lay his hands on, and 
Fouasse did not feel the stealthy kicks his brother Tu- 
pain was bestowing on his ribs. As for Delphin, he 
looked quite pretty when he had drunk a good deal, 
with his fair hair and pink face with its rapturous 
expression. Margot had risen to her feet, and was now 
silently contemplating the lad with an air of severity. 


214 


THE STRANGE CATCH. 


“ They ought to be put to bed I ” exclaimed some 
one. 

Bat just then Delphin opened his eyes, and looked 
around. He was at once assailed with eager questions, 
which somewhat dazed him, for he was still very tipsy. 

“Well, what’s the matter? ” he stammered. “ It’s a 
little cask — there’s no fish, so we caught a little cask.” 

That was all that could be got from him, and at the 
end of every sentence he added : 

“It was very nice ! ” 

“ But what was there in the cask ? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know, but it was very nice ! ” 

Now, every one was burning with curiosity as to what 
the liquor was, and every nose in Coqueville was sniffing 
at the boat. It was unanimously agreed that it smelt 
like some liquor, only no one could say what liquor it 
was. The Emperor, who flattered himself that he had 
tasted everything possible for man to drink, said that he 
would see, and in the hollow of his hand he gravely 
scooped up a little of the liquid lying in the bottom of 
the boat. The crowd stood silently awaiting his verdict, 
but, after the first mouthful, he shook his head, as though 
he had not yet arrived at a conclusion. He tasted it 
twice more, and became very much embarrassed and 
surprised. 

“ It’s funny, but I don’t know what it is,” he was 
forced to own. “No doubt I should know if there 
wasn’t any sea-water mixed with it, but, upon my word, 
it’s funny.” 

People looked at each other, for it must be something 
remarkable if the Emperor himself could not say what 


THE STRANGE CATCH. 


216 


it was, and all Coqneville gazed at the little empty bar- 
rel with respect. 

“ It was very nice,” said Delphin again, who seemed 
utterly regardless of the people around him. 

Then, designating the sea with a broad wave of the 
hand, he added : 

“ If you want any, there’s some more left. I saw 
some little casks — little casks — little casks ” 

And he rocked himself to and fro, humming this 
refrain, and gazing at Margot, whose presence he had 
only just perceived. She was furious, and raised her 
hand to give him a box on the ears, but he did not even 
close his eyes, and awaited the blow with a tender look 
on his face. 

Puzzled by this unknown beverage, the Abbd Eadiguet 
dipped his finger in the liquid also, and then sucked it, 
but, like the Emperor, he shook his head; no, it was 
very astonishing, but he could not tell what it was. 
There Avas only one point on which every one was 
agreed, and that was that the barrel must have been 
part of the cargo of the vessel in distress which had 
been seen on the Sunday evening. English ships 
often brought liquors and wines to Grandport. 

The day gradually closed in, and, in the deepening 
shadows, the crowd withdrew. But La Queue, tormented 
by an idea lie had not revealed, still stood thinking, and 
as they carried Delphin away he still seemed to hear the 
lad saying in his sing-song voice : 

“ Little casks — little casks — little casks. If you want 
any, there’s some more left.” 


216 


TASTING THE HBINK. 


CHAPTER IIL 

TASTING THE BRINK. 

D uring that night there came a complete change 
in the weather, and Coqueville awoke the next 
morning to a bright sun, a sea as smooth as a huge piece 
of green satin, and a warm autumn day. 

La Queue was the first one to rise, his head still full 
of the dreams of the night. For a long time he gazed 
at the sea in all directions, and at last he said, with a 
grumble, that after all M. Mouchel’s wants must be sat- 
isfied. Then he set off with Tupain and Brisemotte, 
threatening Margot before he went that he would give 
her a thrashing if she didn’t keep straight. However, 
when the Zepliir left the harbor, and he saw the Ba- 
leine still swinging at anchor, he became a little better 
tempered, and cried : 

“ Ah, to-day, we’ve got the start I” 

As soon as the Zephir was well out to sea. La Queue 
dropped his nets overboard, and then went to visit his 
baskets, used especially to catch lobsters. But, despite 
the calm sea, he found every one empty except the last, 
at the bottom of which there was a tiny mackerel, which 
he threw back into the sea in a passion. It was a regu- 
lar fate; there were weeks like that when every fish 
seemed to be avoiding Coqueville, and it was always 
those very weeks that M. Mouchel wanted all that could 
be caught. La Queue swore roundly, when, an hour 


TASTING THE DRINK. 


217 


later, he pulled up liis nets and found they contained 
nothing but a bundle of sea-weeds, and his anger was all 
tlie greater since the ocean was perfectly smooth and 
calm, and lay under the blue sky like a sheet of bur- 
nished silver. The Ztphir glided so smoothly over the 
water that it hardl}^ seemed to be moving at all, and La 
Queue finally decided to go back after once more setting 
his baskets. He would visit them again in the after- 
noon, and, in awful oaths, he threatened to revenge him- 
self on the Divinity and all the saints if he found them 
empty. 

Eouget, Fouasse and Delphin were still asleep, and no 
one was able to arouse them until just before the mid- 
day meal. They could remember nothing, being merely 
conscious that they had regaled themselves with some- 
thing strange, with which they had previously been 
totally unacquainted. That afternoon, as they were all 
three standing near the harbor, having regained their 
senses, the Emperor tried to question them. Well, per- 
haps it was like brandy with liquorice juice in it, or, 
rather, it was more like sugared rum with a burnt fla- 
vor about it. They said yes and no, and from their 
answers the Emperor suspected that it was ratafia, but 
he would not have sworn to it. Eouget and his men 
were all too tired and dazed that day to go fishing, 
besides they knew that La Queue had not caught any- 
thing in the morning, and they talked of waiting till the 
following day before visiting their lobster-traps. 

They were all three sitting on the rocks half-asleep, 
when suddenly Delphin jumped to his feet, crying: 

“ Look there, governor ! Over there ! ” 


218 


TASTING niE DRINK. 


*• Wliat? asked Eouget, stretdiiug his limbs. 

“ A barrel.” 

The words were hardly out of his mouth before Eou- 
get and Fouasse were on their feet, eagerly scanning the 
horizon. 

“Where is it, lad? Where is the barrel?” asked 
Eouget, excitedly. 

“Over there, to the left; that black spot.” 

At first the others could see nothing, then Eouget 
muttered an oath : 

“Curse it all ! ” 

By an oblique ray of the setting sun, he had just seen 
the barrel, which looked about the size of a bean on the 
white water, and he at once ran to the Bahine^ followed 
by Delphin and Fouasse, who rushed along as fast as 
their legs would carry them. 

The Baleine was just leaving the harbor when the 
news that there was a barrel in sight spread through 
Coqueville. 

Men, women and children ran down to the beach, 
crying : 

“ A barrel ! a barrel ! ” 

“ Can you see it ? Is the current carrying it to Grand- 
port ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ; there it is to the left. Come along, there’s 
a barrel in sight.” 

And Coqueville hastened down from its rock, the 
children turning cartwheels on the way, while the women 
gathered up their petticoats in both hands to get along 
as quickly as possible. Soon, as on the preceding even- 
ing, the whole village was on the beach. 


TASTING THE DRINK. 


219 


Margot had come out for a moment, and had then 
hastened back to the house to tell the news to her father, 
who was arguing with the Emperor about some munici- 
pal matters, and at last La Queue appeared upon the 
scene, white with passion. 

“ Shut up, will you ! ” he exclaimed to the constable. 

Kouget sent you to me to keep me out of the way, but 
you^ll see he won’t get the cask this time.” 

When he saw the Baleine three hundred yards out to 
sea, rowing as hard as it could go towards the black 
speck in the distance, his rage increased, and, pushing 
Tupain and Brisemotte into the Zephir^ he in his turn 
left the harbor, repeating : 

“ No, they shan’t have it. I’ll go to the bottom 
first.” 

Then Coqueville had the pleasure of seeing an exci- 
ting race between the Baleine and the Zephir. When 
the former saw the other boat put out from the harbor, 
she understood the danger and made off as quickly as 
she could go ; she may have been about four hundred 
yards ahead, but the chances were equal, for the Zephir 
was the lighter and the quicker craft, and thus the 
excitement on the beach was at its height. The Malics 
and the Floches had instinctively formed into two 
groups, each member supporting his particular party’s 
boat, as they all eagerly watched the struggle. 

At first the Baleine kept her advantage, but it was 
soon seen that the Zephir was gradually gaining upon 
her. Then she made a supreme effort and succeeded for 
some minutes in again increasing the distance between 
her adversary and herself; but again this distance was 


220 


TASTING THE DRINK. 


diminislied, and the Zephir drew up to her with marvel- 
lous rapidity. From that moment it became clear that 
the two boats would meet just as they both reached the 
barrel. The victory would depend on an accident, on 
the slightest mistake. 

“The Baleine wins! The wins 1 ” cried the 

Mahes. 

But suddenly their cries ceased. The Baleine was 
almost touching the barrel, when the Zephir^ by a bold 
manoeuvre, succeeded in passing before her and in throw- 
ing the barrel to the left, where La Queue harpooned it 
with a boat-hook. 

“ Hurrah for the Zephir I ” screamed the Floches. 

The Emperor said something about cheating, while 
Margot clapped her hands, and harsh words were ex- 
changed, but the Abbe Eadiguet, who had come down 
to the beach, breviary in hand, suddenly quieted his 
parishioners, throwing them all into a state of conster- 
nation by a profound remark. 

“ Perhaps they’ll drink it all up like the others did,” 
he said, with a melancholy look. 

On the sea a violent quarrel was raging between the 
Baleine and the Zephir, Eouget stigmatized La Queue as 
a thief, and the latter retorted by calling the master of the 
Baleine a scoundrel. The men even took up their oars 
to strike at one another, and the adventure was within 
an ace of becoming a naval combat. However, they 
contented themselves with shaking their fists and oars 
at one another, and threatening to knock all the breath 
out of each other’s body the first time they met on land. 

“ The rogue 1 ” muttered Eouget. “ That cask’s big- 


TASTING THE DRINK. 


221 


ger than the one we caught yesterday, and it’s painted 
yellow. There must be some capital stuff inside it.” 

Then he went on despondingly : 

“ Let’s go and look at the traps. Perhaps we shall 
find some lobsters in them.” 

Then the Baleine went slowly off towards the little 
promontory on the left. 

On board the Zephir^ La Queue had to use all his 
authority to keep Tupain and Brisemotte from the 
barrel. The boat-hook had broken one of the hoops, 
and a red liquid was oozing out, which the two men 
licked off the tips of their fingers and thought delicious. 
One glass wouldn’t make much difierence, surely; but 
La Queue wouldn’t hear of it. He stood the cask on 
end, and said the first who touched it would have him to 
deal with. He would see about giving them some when 
they had landed. 

“ In that case,” asked Tupain, bad temperedly, “aren’t 
we going to take up the traps ? ” 

“Yes, we will. There’s no hurry,” answered La 
Queue. 

He himself was looking longingly at the barrel, and 
he wanted to go back at once to taste its contents ; he 
couldn’t bother about fishing. 

“ Ball! ” he said, after a pause. “ It’s getting late, and 
we had better go back. We’ll come again to-morrow.” 

The}^ had turned round, when suddenly he caught 
sight of another barrel on his right — a tiny one, which 
was floating on end, and turning round and round. That 
settled the question of fishing, and the Zephir gave 
chase to the little cask, which it easily caught. 


222 


TASTING THE DRINK. 


Meanwliile a similar thing had happened to the 
Baleine, Eouget had already visited five traps, and 
found them empty, when Delphi n, always on the alert, 
cried out that he could see something, but it looked too 
long to be a barrel. 

It’s a beam of wood,” said Fouasse. 

Eouget let his sixth lobster-trap drop back again 
before he had quite lifted it out of the water. 

“Well, we’ll go and see what it is, at any rate,” he 
said. 

As they advanced, they thought it a plank, a chest, or 
the trunk of a tree. Then they uttered a cry of delight. 
It was a cask, but a cask such as they had never seen 
before, It looked like a pipe, swollen in the middle, 
and closed at both ends by a layer of plaster. 

“Oh, isn’t it funny,” cried Eouget in delight. “I 
want the Emperor to taste this one, so let’s go in, boys.” 

They all agreed that they would not touch it, and the 
Baleine returned to Coqueville at the very moment 
when the Zephir was anchoring in the harbor. Not 
one of the inquisitive crowd had left the beach, and 
this unexpected catch of three barrels was hailed with 
shouts of joy. Boys threw their caps into the air, and 
the women ran off* to get glasses. It was at once de- 
cided to taste the liquors then and there ; all wreckage 
belonged to the whole village, so that no question of 
proprietorship was raised, but two groups were formed, 
the Mahes surrounding Eouget, and the Floches La 
Queue. 

“ The first glass is for you, Emperor,” cried Eouget. 
“ And tell us what it is.” 


TASTING THE DRINK. 


223 


The fluid was of a bright golden color, and the con- 
stable raised the glass, looked, smelt, and finally decided 
to drink. 

“ That comes from Holland,” he said, after a long 
silence. 

He added no other information, but all the Mahes 
drank reverentially. The liquor was rather thick, and 
had a flowery taste, which the women thought very 
nice, though the men would have liked it better if it 
had not been so sweet. However, the more they drank 
of it the more they liked it, and at the third or fourth 
glass the men began to get merry, and the women 
funny. 

In spite of his recent quarrel with the mayor, the 
Emperor now went and hung round the Floches. The 
larger barrel gave forth a dark red liquid, while from 
the smaller one there issued a stream as white as spring 
water, and so strong and hot that it burned the tongue. 
Not one of the Floches knew what either the red or the 
white liquid was, and yet there were some knowing 
ones among them. It vexed them not to know the 
name of what they were enjoying. 

“ Here, Emperor, taste that,” said La Queue at last, 
thus making the first advance. 

The Emperor, who was waiting for the invitation, 
again posed as a connoisseur. 

“There is orange in that,” he said, when he had tasted 
the red. The white, he declared, was not up to much. 

Every one had to be contented with these answers, 
for he put on the happy look of a man who has fully 
satisfied his audience. The Abbe Eadiguet was the 


224 


TASTING THE DRINK. 


only person who did not seem convinced ; he wanted to 
know tbe names. According to his own account, he 
had the names on the tip of his tongue and could not 
think of them. To help his memory, he drank several 
glasses one after the other, saying, as he did so: 

“ Wait a minute, I know what it is. I shall be able 
to tell you presently.” 

The two groups were gradually getting very merry. 
The Floches, especially, were very gay. For they were 
mixing the liquors. Both Floches and Mahds kept 
entirely to themselves and their own barrels, merely 
casting longing glances at each other, from time to time, 
as they felt a desire, which they would not confess, to 
taste their neighbors’ drink, which, no doubt, was bet- 
ter than their own. The two unfriendly brothers, Tupain 
and Fouasse, stood side by side all the evening, with- 
out even shaking their fists at one another, and it was 
also remarked that Eouget and his wife were drinking 
out of the same cup. As for Margot, she was serv- 
ing the drink to the Floches, and, as she filled the 
glasses too full and the liquor ran over on to her 
hands, she was constantly sucking her fingers, until at 
last, although she was obeying her father’s injunctions 
not to drink, she became as intoxicated as a woman 
vintaging. It rather improved her than otherwise, for 
her face became a rosy pink, and her eyes shone like 
stars. 

The sun was setting, but the evening was mild and 
springlike. Coqueville had emptied the casks, and yet 
it was not thinking of going in to dinner. It was so 
pleasant on the beach. When it was dark, Margot, who 


MORE JOLLIFICATION. 


225 


was sitting apart from every one else, felt some one 
breathing on her neck. It was Delphin, who was very 
lively, and who was wandering about behind her, on all 
fours like a wolf. She stifled an exclamation so as not 
to rouse her father, who would have kicked Delphin 
away if he had seen him. 

‘^Go away, you idiot!” she whispered, half-angry, 
half-laughing. “You’ll be caught!” 


O: 


CHAPTER IV. 


MORE JOLLIFICATION. 



[OQUEVILLE did not awake on the following 


day, until the sun was well above the horizon. It 
was warmer even than before, and the ^ sea lay dozing 
under a cloudless sky ; in fact, it was just the sort of 
day when most pleasure is to be found in being abso- 
lutely idle. 

Until lunch-time Coqueville rested after the treat of 
the evening before ; then every one went down to the 
beach ta keep a look-out, and, that Wednesday, fishing, 
Madame Dufeu and M. Mouchel were all forgotten. La 
Queue and Rouget did not even speak of going to pull 
up their baskets. About three o’clock some casks were 
sighted — four were dancing on the waves opposite the 
village. Both the Zephir and the Baleine gave chase, 
but there was no dis^mte, as there was enough for all, 
and each boat had its share. 


14 


2^6 


MORK JOLLIFICATION. 


After sailing over every inch of the little gulf, Rouget 
and La Queue came back at six o’clock with three bar- 
rels each, and again the festival began. The woinen had 
brought out some tables, to be more comfortable, tlien 
seats were brought, and two open-air cafes, such as there 
are at Grandport, were at once established. The Mahes 
were on the left and the Floches on the right, and be- 
tween them there was a heap of sand. That evening 
the Emperor went from one group to the other with full 
glasses in his hands, that every one might taste the con- 
tents of all six barrels. By nine o’clock, the scene was 
a much more gay and festive one than that of the even- 
ing before; and the next day, try as it would, Coque- 
ville could not remember how it had managed to get to 
bed. 

On the Thursday, the Zephir and the Baleine only 
took two barrels each, but those were huge ones. On 
Friday, the catch was superb and quite beyond every 
one’s hopes ; seven barrels were brought to land, three 
by Rouget, four by La Queue. Then came golden hours 
for Coqueville. No one did any work. The fishermen 
lay in bed till noon, sleeping off their potations of the 
night before, and then sauntered down to the beach, and 
gazed at the sea. Their only anxiety was as to the kind 
of liquor the tide was going to bring them, and they 
stood on the sand for hours, giving shouts of delight as 
soon as any wreckage appeared. The women and chil- 
dren stood on the tops of the rocks and pointed out 
everything floating on the water, even to the smallest 
bundle of sea-weed, and the Zephir and the Baleine were 
kept in readiness to go out to sea at any moment. They 


MORE JOLLIFICATION. 


227 


set off and tacked about tlie gulf, fisliing for casks as 
they might have done for tunny, quite despising the 
mackerel, which leaped in the sunlight, and the soles, 
which floated lazily along at the top of the water. 
Coqueville watched the fishers from the shore, and burst 
its sides with laughing ; then, in the evening, the catch 
was drunk. 

What delighted Coqueville most was that the supply 
of casks did not cease. The wrecked vessel must have 
had a large cargo, and Coqueville, now selfish and gay, 
joked about the lost ship, which, folks said, was a regu- 
lar wine-cellar, containing enough liquor to intoxicate 
all the fish in the sea. They never caught two barrels 
alike ; the casks were of all shapes, sizes and colors, and 
each contained a different liquid. The Emperor fell into 
profound reveries — he, who had drunk everything, could 
no longer give an opinion ; and La Queue himself de- 
clared he had never seen such a cargo. The Abbe Ead- 
iguet believed it had been destined for some savage 
king, who had wished to stock his cellar; but the rest 
of Coqueville no longer even tried to find out what they 
were drinking. 

The elder ladies preferred the liquors flavored with 
mocha, peppermint, and vanilla; and Marie Eouget 
drank so much aniseed one evening that it made her 
perfectly ill. Margot and the other young ladies de- 
voted themselves to cura9oa, ben^dictine, trappistine, 
and chartreuse, while the cassis was given to the chil- 
dren. The men were naturally most pleased when the 
catch included cognac, rum or gin. A barrel of raki 
from Chio stupefied Coqueville, who thought it had got 


228 


MORE JOLLIFICATION. 


liold of a cask of turpentine. All the same it was 
drunk, because it is not right to waste anything, but it 
was talked about for a long time. Batavian arrack, 
Swedish brandy, Roumanian tuica calugaresca, Servian 
sliwowitz, also upset all Coque villi an ideas about what 
was fit to drink; but there was a general leaning 
towards kiimmel and kirsch, liquors clear as water and 
strong enough to kill a man. How could so many good 
things have been invented ! At Coqueville brandy had 
been the only drink known, and all the inhabitants were 
not even acquainted with that. A veritable worship for 
this inexhaustible variety of intoxicants began to spring 
up. Oh ! to get drunk every evening on something dif- 
ferent, and of which even the name was unknown ! It 
seemed like a fairy tale, in which there is a magic foun- 
tain spouting forth strange alcoholic liquids, perfumed 
and flavored with all the flowers and fruits in creation. 

As has been said, there were seven barrels on the 
sands on Friday evening. Coqueville now simply lived 
on the beach, which, thanks to the mildness of the 
weather, it could do with comfort. Never had there 
been so fine a week in September. The feast had lasted 
since Monday, and there was no reason why it should 
not last forever, if only Providence (for in this affair 
the Abbe Radiguet discerned the finger of Providence) 
would continue to send them casks. All work was sus- 
pended, and every one for the time being was a gentle- 
man, and a gentleman who drank expensive liquors 
without having to pay for them. Coqueville put its 
hands in its pockets and basked in the sun, while it 
waited for the evening carouse ; besides, it was never 


MORE JOLLIFICATION. 


229 


sober. One after another it tried the joys of kummel, 
kirseh and ratafia, and in the course of a week it had 
experienced the angers of gin, the soft-hearted ness of 
cura9oa and the laughter of brandy ; for Coqueville, in 
the innocent way of a new-born child, thankfully drank 
whatever heaven sent it. 

It was on the Friday that the Mahes and the Floches 
fraternized. Every one was very merry that evening, 
and even on the night before the distance between the 
two groups had been lessened, for the most intoxicated 
had trodden down the heap of sand, and now there was 
only about a foot of it between the two parties. The 
Floches were emptying their four casks, while the Mahds 
were making an end of three little barrels of liquors, 
the colors of which were the same as those of the 
French flag — red, white and blue. The Floches were 
filled with envy and jealousy whenever they saw the 
blue, for a blue liquor seemed to them something really 
wonderful; and at last La Queue, who had turned quite 
good-natured now that he was never sober, came for- 
ward, glass in hand, thinking that it was his place as 
mayor to make the first advance. 

“ I say, Eouget,” he stuttered, “ will you drink with 
me? ” 

Certainly,” replied Eouget, whose emotion made 
him reel. 

They fell on each other’s necks, and every one wept, 
the scene was so touching ! Then the Mah^s and the 
Floches, who had been ready to cut each other up for 
the last three hundred years, kissed and shook each 
other by the hand ; and the Abbe Eadiguet, who was 


230 


MORE JOLLIFICATION. 


very mucli affected, again spoke of the finger of Provi- 
dence. Then they all toasted one another in the red, 
white and blue liquors, and the Emperor cried : “ Here’s 
to France ! ” 

The blue was not up to much, and the white was 
hardly any better, but the red met with great approval. 
The Floches’ barrels were next attacked, and then a 
dance was got up. As there was no music, some of the 
young fellows whistled and clapped their hands to keep 
time, and the girls danced with spirit. The spree was 
really assuming magnificent proportions. The seven 
casks were placed side by side, and every one took what 
he liked best; those who had had enough lay down on 
the sand and slept for a little while, and when they woke 
up began to drink again. The number of dancers in- 
creased and the ball was continued until midnight. The 
waves broke on the beach with a faint noise, the stars 
were shining in a deep blue sky — it was like the peace- 
fulness of a newly-created world around a tribe of sav- 
ages intoxicated by their first draught of brandy. 

However, when there was nothing left to drink, Coque- 
ville at last went indoors, Floches and Mahes helping one 
another to the best of their ability, and ending by some- 
how finding their beds. 

On the Saturday, the spree was kept up till nearly two 
o’clock in the morning. Six casks, two of which were 
huge ones, had been caught that day, and during the 
evening Fouasse and I’upain almost came to blows. 
Tupain, who was very bad-tempered when he was drunk, 
talked of making an end of his brother, but this quarrel 
shocked everybody — Floches as well as Mah^s. Was 


MORE JOLLIFICATION. 


231 


there any sense in still disagreeing when all i - ^ illage 
had made it up and forgotten old scores? The two 
brothers were forced to drink together, and, as they still 
looked sulky, the Emperor determined to keep his eye 
on them. The Eougets did not get on very well together 
either. When Marie had drunk some aniseed liquor, 
she lavished endearments on Brisemotte which Eouget 
was unable to witness unmoved; besides, drink made 
him tender and affectionate, and he wanted to be loved 
and caressed himself. It was in vain that the Abbd 
Eadiguet exhorted them to be forgiving. 

“Bah!” said La Queue, “you’ll see they’ll make it 
up, if there’s a good catch to-morrow. Your health!” 

Still, La Queue himself was not perfect. lie had not 
ceased to watch Delphin, and as soon as he saw him near 
Margot, he gave him a kick. This made the Emperor 
very indignant, for it was not reasonable to prevent two 
young people laughing together, but La Queue still 
swore that he would kill Margot rather than give her 
to thje boy. Besides, Margot herself did not want him. 

“You don’t, do you? You are too proud ever to 
marry a beggar, aren't you?” he cried. 

“Yes, papa,” answered Margot. 

On Saturday Margot drank a great deal of some 
syrupy liquor, and, as she had no idea of its strength, 
she soon found herself sitting on the ground beside the 
cask. She sat there, laughing to herself, for she felt as 
if she were in paradise ; she could see stars aroimd her, 
and it seemed as if dance-music were being played inside 
her head. While she was like this Delphin slipped into 
the shadow of the barrel, and, taking her hand, asked : , 


232 


MORE JOLLIFICATION. 


“ Tc I Margot, will you? ’’ 

She oUaa dmiled, finally she answered : 

“ It’s papa who won’t hear of it.” 

** Oh, that doesn’t matter,” said the lad. “ Old people, 
you know, are always against it ; but if you are wil- 
ling ” 

And, getting bolder, he dropped a kiss on her neck. 
She drew up her head, but a little shiver ran all down 
her back, 

‘‘ Have done I You tickle me ! ” she exclaimed. 

But she no longer said anything about boxing his 
ears ; in the first place, because she would not have been 
able to do so, her hands felt so lazy, and, secondly, 
because she liked to have her neck kissed. It made 
her feel deliciously drowsy, like the liquors, and after 
a time she began moving her head, and holding out her 
chin, like a cat who wants to be caressed. 

“ There, just under the ear,” she murmured. “ Oh, it’s 
lovely!” 

They both forgot La Queue, but, fortunately, the 
Emperor was on the watch. 

“ Look there, your reverence,” he said, pointing out 
the couple to tlie Abbe Eadiguet. ‘‘It would be better 
to marry them.” 

“It certainly would,” answered the priest. 

And he undertook to speak to La Queue on the sub- 
ject the following day. In the meantime. La Queue had 
drunk so much that the Emperor and the priest had to 
carry him home. On the way they tried to talk to him, 
but they could get nothing from him but a grunt. 
Behind them walked Delphin with Margot on his arm. 


GENERAL HAPPINESS. 


233 


By four o’clock tlie next day the Ze;phvi d the 
Baleine had booked up seven barrels; by six o'clock 
the Zephir had found two more, which made nine alto- 
gether, and Coqueville had a merry Sunday. It was the 
seventh day running that it had been drunk. And the 
spree was perfect — such a spree as had never been seen 
before, and would never be seen again. Just mention 
it in Lower Normandy, and people will answer you 
with a laugh : 

‘Ah, yes I We know all about the spree at Coque- 


ville.” 


o : 


CHAPTEE V. 


GENERAL HAPPINESS. 


FTEE the Tuesday, M. Mouchel was very much 



astonished to see neither Eouget nor La Queue 
arrive at Grandport. What the deuce could the rascals 
be thinking of? The sea was calm, and the catch must 
have been enormous; perhaps, though, they wanted to 
bring a regular cargo of lobsters and soles all at once, 
and he patiently waited until Wednesday. 

On the Wednesday, M. Mouchel began to get angry. 
It must be stated that Madame Dufeu w’^as not a good- 
tempered woman ; at the least thing she flew into a rage, 
and although Mouchel was a big, strong, handsome fel- 
low, he trembled before her — all the more as he aimed 
at marrying her later on — and was always on the alert 


234 


GENERAL HAPPINESS. 


to anticipate and gratify her wishes, meaning to make 
np for his present life if he ever became the master. 
Now, on the Wednesday morning, Madame Dufeu stormed 
and complained that they were missing the market for 
want of fish, and she accused Mouchel of running after 
girls, instead of giving his attention to the whiting and 
mackerel, which they ought to have had in abundance. 
Then M. Mouchel, in his vexation, shielded himself 
behind the strange failure of the Coqueville fishers. For 
a moment, surprise struck Madame Dufeu dumb. What 
could Coqueville be dreaming about ? It had never done 
such a thing before. Then she declared that she didn’t 
care about Coqueville ; that it was M. Mouchel’s business 
to look after the supply, and that she would do so herself, 
if he allowed the fishermen to take him in again. Mou- 
chel heartily wished Eouget and La Queue at the devil; 
but, perhaps, after all, they would come on the morrow. 

But on the next day, which was Thursday, neither one 
nor tlie other appeared; and M. Mouchel, in despair, 
went up in the evening to the rocks on the left of Grand- 
port, whence Coqueville and its stretch of yellow sand 
can be seen. For a long time he gazed. The village 
looked perfectly tranquil ; the smoke was ascending from 
the chimneys, and, no doubt, the women were getting 
their dinners read}^ as usual. When M. Mouchel had 
ascertained that Coqueville still existed, and that no rock 
from the cliff had fallen and crushed it, he felt more puz- 
zled than ever; but as he was just about to go down 
again, he thought he discerned two black specks in the 
bay — the Baleine and the Zephir, Then he returned to 
soothe Madame Dufeu. Coqueville was fishing. 


GENERAL HAPPINESS. 


235 


The night passed, however, and Friday dirwned ; but 
still no news came from Coqueville. M. Mouchel 
climbed up on his rock a dozen times. He was beginning 
to lose his head. Madame Dufeu treated him shamefull}', 
and he could find nothing to say to her. Coqueville still 
lay basking in the sun, like a lazy lizard, only there was 
no longer any smoke. The village seemed dead; could 
all the inhabitants have perished without any one know- 
ing of it? There was, indeed, a black mass moving on 
the shore; but that might be sea- weeds tossed about by 
the waves. 

No news on Saturday. Madame Dufeu no longer 
stormed, but her eyes were fixed and her lips wdiite. M. 
Mouchel stayed two hours on the rock, feeling an ever- 
increasing desire to find out for himself the reason of the 
strange stillness of the village. Those houses, sleeping 
so quietly in the sun, irritated him, and he made up his 
mind to start off very early on Monday morning, so as 
to be at the village by nine o’clock. 

Coqueville was not within walking distance, but M. 
Mouchel preferred to go by land so that he might catch 
the village unawares. A carriage took him to Eobigneux, 
where he left it under a shed, for it would have been 
dangerous to take it through the ravines and defiles. 
Then he cheerfully set off to walk some seven miles 
along the most abominable roads imaginable, though 
they are surrounded by a landscape full of wild beauty. 
The path — so narrow, that in places three men could not 
walk abreast — goes winding down between enormous 
walls of rock ; then a little further on it passes between 
some precipices, then the ravine suddenly widens, and 


236 


GENERAL HAPPINESS. 


tlirougb III ' opening one catches glimpses of the sea. 
But M. Mouchel was in no mood to admire scenery, and 
he only swore when the pebbles rolled away from 
beneath his feet. It was all Coqueville’s fault, and he 
promised himself to call those vagabonds to account! 
Bat, Avhile he pondered, he had drawn near the end of 
his journey, and suddenly as he turned round a rock he 
came upon the twenty houses perched on the side of the 
cliff and forming the village. 

Nine o’clock was striking. It might have been 
June, the sky was so blue and clear; it was a magnifi- 
cent day, indeed, and there Avas a soft breeze, which 
brought with it the pleasant smell of the sea. M. Mou- 
chel turned down the one street which the village pos- 
sessed, and down which he had so often walked before, 
and as he passed Eouget’s house, he looked in. It was 
empty. Then he went to Fouasse’s, to Tupain’s, and 
Brisemotte’s. Not a soul to be found ; all the doors were 
open, but there was no one in the rooms. What did it 
mean? A slight shiver ran over him. Then he be- 
thought him of the authorities; the Emperor would 
surely be able to tell what had happened. But the Emper- 
or’s house was empty, like the others! Even the con- 
stable was missing! This silent and deserted village 
frightened him now. He ran to the mayor’s, but there 
another surprise awaited him; everything was in a ter- 
rible litter, the beds had not been made for the last three 
days, dirty china was lying about, and the chairs were 
overturned, as though there had been a fight. M. Mou- 
chel felt thoroughly upset, but he determined to go 
through to the end, and he visited the church, but there 


GENERAL H.vPPINESS. 


237 


was no priest to be found any moi t^lian any aayor. All 
the authorities, both civil and religious, hau disi.ppeared, 
and Coqueville was utterly forsaken ; iliere v as not even 
a dog or a cat or a fowl about the placel Tln re was 
only emptiness and silence under the vast blue sky. 

It was not astonishing, then, that Coqueville had not 
brought its fish! Coqueville had removed, Coquevihe 
was dead, and the police must be informed*. M. Mouchel 
was working himself into a state of great excitement 
over this mysterious catastrophe, when he thought of 
going down to the beach, and, at the sight he saw tiiere, 
he uttered a cry of surprise. The entire population of 
the village was lying on the sand. At first he thought 
there had been a general massacre, but the deep snores 
soon undeceived him. Coqueville had kept up the spree 
so late on Sunday night that it had found it utterly 
impossible to go to bed, so it had slept on the sand, 
lying just where it had fallen round the nine barrels 
which were quite empty! 

Yes, all Coqueville was snoring there — men, women, 
old folks and children. Some were on their backs, 
others on their stomachs; not one was on his feet. 
They lay about like a handful of leaves scattered by the 
wind. Some of the men had their heels higher than 
their heads, some of the women’s clothes had blown 
aside; it was like an open-air dormitory, where the 
members of a family lie at their ease ; where there is 
any ceremony, there is no pleasure. 

The moon had happened to be a new one, and Coque- 
ville, thinking it had blown out the candle, had fallen 
asleep in the dark. Then day had dawned, and now the 


238 


GEFSRAL HAPPINESS. 


sun was shining full on the sleepers’ faces, though their 
eyelids did not even quiver. They were sleeping 
sweetly and soundl}’', with a happy expression on their 
drink-bloated countenances, in the utter innocence of a 
complete state of fuddle. 

The fowls must have come down early in the morning 
and pecked at the barrels, for they, too, were lying in 
the sand, drunk ; and there were even five cats and three 
dogs on their backs, with their paws in the air — tipsy 
from having licked the syrup remaining in Coqueville’s 
glasses. 

For a few minutes M. Mouchel walked amidst these 
sleepers, taking care to tread on nobody. He understood 
Avhat had happened, for some casks from the wreck of 
an English vessel had also been washed up at Grandport. 
All his anger had evaporated. What a touching and 
moral spectacle lay before him ! Coqueville reconciled I 
The Mahes and the Floches lying side by side ! For, at 
the last glass, the bitterest enemies had embraced each 
other. Tupain and Fouasse were snoring hand in hand, 
like brothers incapable of ever again disputing over 
an inheritance, and tlie Eouget couple formed a most 
amiable picture, for Marie was slumbering tranquilly 
between Eouget and Brisemotte, as if to indicate that 
henceforth they would all live happily together and 
never have a quarrel again. 

But one group in particular afforded an affecting scene 
of family affection. It was formed of Delphin and Mar- 
got, who were lying with their arms round one another’s 
necks. At their feet the Emperor was stretched, as if 
watching over them, and just above them La Queue was 


genera ttapptnes^^. 239 

snoring like a father well pleased at having settled his 
daughter’s future; while the Abb<^ Kadiguet, who had 
dropped on the sand like the others, lay with out- 
stretched arms as though to bless them all. It' was a 
picture touching in the extreme. 

The memorable spree ended with a wedding a little 
later on, and M. Mouchel himself married Madame 
Dufeu, whom he beat most unmercifully, as was to bo 
expected. Just mention the affair in Lower Normandy, 
and people will answer with a laugh : 

“Ah, yes! We know all about the spree at Coque- 

ville” 


MARGUERITE. 

BY fiMILE ZOLA. 


CHAPTER I. 

ALIVE IN DEATH. 

I T was on a Saturday, at six in the morning, that I 
died, after a three days’ illness. My wife was 
searching a trunk for some linen, and when she rose and 
turned she saw me rigid, with open eyes and silent 
pulses. She ran to me, fancying I had fainted, touched 
my hands, and bent over me. Then she suddenly grew 
alarmed, burst into tears, and stammered: 

“My God! my God! he is dead 1 ” 

I heard everything, but the deadened sounds seemed to 
come from a great distance. My left eye still perceived 
a faint glimmer, a whitish light in which all objects 
melted, but my right eye was quite bereft of sight. It 
was the coma of my whole being, as if a thunderbolt 
had struck me. My will was annihilated, not a fibre of 
my flesh obeyed my bidding. And yet amid the impo- 
tency of m\^ inert limbs my thoughts subsisted, sluggish 
and lazy, still perfectly clear. 

My poor Marguerite was crying ; she had dropped on 
her knees beside the bed, repeating in heart-rending 
tones : 

( 240 ) 


ALIVE IN DEATH. 


241 


He is dead ! My God ! he is dead ! ” 

Was this strange state of torpor, this immobility of 
the flesh, really death, although the functions of the 
intellect were not arrested ? W as my soul only linger- 
ing for a brief space before it soared away forever? 
From my childhood upwards I had been subject to hys- 
terical attacks, and twice, in early youth, I had nearly 
succumbed to nervous fevers. By degrees all those who 
surrounded me had got accustomed to consider me an 
invalid, and to see me sickly. So much so, that I my- 
self had forbidden my wife to call in a doctor when I 
had taken to my bed on the day of our arrival at the 
cheap lodging-house of the Eue Dauphine in Paris, A 
little rest would soon set me right again ; it was only 
the fatigue of the journey which had caused my intol- 
erable weariness. And yet I was conscious of having 
felt singularly uneasy. We had left our province some- 
what abruptly; we were very poor, and had barely 
enough money to support ourselves till I drew my first 
month’s salary in the office where I had obtained a situ- 
ation. And now a sudden seizure was carrying me off! 

Was it really death? I had pictured to mj^self n 
darker night, a deeper silence. As a little child I had 
already felt afraid to die. Being weak and compassion = 
ately petted by every one, I had concluded that I had 
not long to live, that I should soon be buried ; and the 
thought of the cold earth filled me with a dread I could 
not master — a dread which haunted me day and night. 
As I grew older the same terror pursued me. Some- 
times, after long hours spent in reasoning with myself, I* 
thought that I had conquered my fear. I reflected, 
15 


242 


ALIVE IN DEATH. 


“After all, wliat does it matter? One dies and all is 
over. It is the common fate ; nothing could be better 
or easier.” 

I then prided myself on being able to look death 
boldly in the face; but suddenly a shiver would freeze 
my blood, my dizzy anguish returned as if a giant hand 
had swung me over a black abyss. It was the vision of 
the earth returning and setting reason at naught. How 
often at night have I started up in bed, not knowing 
what cold breath had swept over my slumbers, clasping 
my despairing hands and moaning, “ Must I die? In 
those moments an icy horror would stop my pulses, 
while an appalling vision of dissolution rose before me. 
It Avas with difficulty that I could get to sleep again. 
Indeed, sleep alarmed me, it so closely resembled death. 
If I closed my eyes they might never open again — I 
might slumber on forever I 

I cannot tell if others have endured the same torture; 
I only know that my own life has been made a torment 
by it. Death has risen between me and all I love ; I 
can remember bow the thought of it poisoned the hap- 
piest moments I spent with Marguerite. During the 
firro months o' our married life, when she lay sleeping 
by my side and I dreamed of a fair future for her and 
vviih lici, liic loreboding of a fatal separation dashed my 
hopes aside and embittered my delights. Perhaps we 
should be parted on the morrow — nay, perhaps in an 
hour’s time. Then utter discouragement assailed me, I 


* M. Zola expatiates on this subject in his novel, “The Joys of Life,” the 
hero of which, Lazare Chanteau, is incessantly tonnented by an unreasoning 
fear of death.— TrawsZaior. . 


ALIVE IN DEATH. 


243 


wondered what the bliss of being united availed me if 
it were to end in so cruel a disruption. 

My morbid imagination revelled in scenes of mourn* 
ing. I speculated as to who would be the first to depart, 
Marguerite or I. Either alternative caused me harrow- 
ing grief, and tears rose to my eyes at thought of our 
shattered lives. At the happiest periods of my existence 
I have fallen a prey to a grim dejection which nobody 
could understand, but which was caused by the thought 
of impending nihility. When I was most successful I 
was to general wonder most depressed. The fatal ques- 
tion, “ What avails it ? ” rang like a knell in my ears. 
But the sharpest sting of this torment was that it came 
with a secret sense of shame, the inability of confiding 
my thoughts to another. Husband and wife lying side 
by side in the darkened room may be shaken by the 
same shudder and yet remain mute ; for people do not 
mention death any more than they pronounce certain 
prohibeted words. Fear makes it nameless. 

I was musing thus while my dear Marguerite knelt 
sobbing at my feet. It grieved me sorely not to be able 
to comfort her by telling her that I suffered no pain. If 
death were merely the annihilation of the flesh, I had 
been foolish to harbor so much dread. I experienced 
a selfish repose, a restfulness in which all my cares were 
forgotten. My memory had become extraordinarily 
vivid. My whole life passed rapidly before me like a 
play in which I no longer acted a part ; it was a curious 
and enjoyable sensation — I seemed to hear a far-off’ voice 
relating my own history. 

I especially saw a particular spot in the country near 


244 


ALIVE IN DEATH. 


Gu^rande, on the road to Piriac. The road turns sharply, 
a scattered wood of pines carelessly dots a rocky slope. 
When I was seven years old I used to pass through 
those pines with my father as far as a crumbling old 
house, where Marguerite’s parents gave me pancakes. 
Tliey were salt gatherers, and earned a scanty livelihood 
by working the adjacent salt marshes. Then I remem- 
bered the school at Nantes, where I had grown up, lead- 
ing a monotonous life within the ancient walls and 
yearning for the broad horizon of Guerande, and the 
salt marshes stretching to the limitless sea widening 
under the sky. 

Then came a blank, my father was dead. I entered 
the hospital as clerk to the managing board and led 
a dreary life with one solitary diversion: my Sunday 
visits to the old house on the Piriac road. The salt 
works were doing badly ; poverty reigned in the land, 
and Marguerite’s parents were nearly penniless. Mar- 
guerite, when merely a child, had been fond of me 
because I made her ride in a wheelbarrow, but on the 
morning when I asked her in marriage^she shrank from 
mo with a frightened gesture, and I realized that she 
thought me hideous. Her parents, however, consented 
at once ; they looked upon my offer as a godsend, and 
the daughter submissively acquiesced. When she be- 
came accustomed to the idea of marrying me she did 
not seem to dislike it so much. On our wedding-day at 
Guerande the rain fell in torrents, and when w’e got home 
my bride had to take off her dress, which was soaked 
through, and sit in her petticoats. 

That was all the youth I ever had. We did not 


ALIVE IN DEATH. 


245 


remain long in onr province. One day I found my wife 
in tears. Slie was miserable, life was so dull, she wanted 
to get away. Six months later I had saved a little 
money by taking in extra work after office hours, and 
through the influence of a friend of my father’s I ob- 
tained a petty appointment in Paris. I started off to 
settle there with the dear little woman so that she might 
not cry any more. During the night which we spent in 
the third-class railway carriage, the seats being very 
hard, I took her in my arms so that she might sleep. 

That was the past, and now I had just died on the 
narrow bed of a Paris lodging-house, and my wife was 
crouching on the floor and crying bitterly. The white 
light before my left eye was growing dim, but I remem- 
bered the room perfectly. On the left there was a chest 
of drawers, on the right a mantlepiece surmounted by a 
damaged clock without a pendulum, the hands of which 
marked ten minutes past ten. The window gave on the 
Bue Dauphine, a long, dark street. All Paris seemed to 
pass below, and the noise was so great that the window 
shook. 

We knew no one in the city; we had hurried our 
departure, but I was not expected at the office till the 
following Monday. Since I had taken to my bed I had 
wondered at my imprisonment in this narrow room into 
which we had tumbled after a railway journey of fifteen 
hours, followed by a hurried, confusing transit through 
the noisy streets. My wife had nursed me with smiling 
tenderness, but I knew that she was anxious. She 
would walk to the window, glance out and return to 
the bedside, looking very pale and startled by the sight 


246 


ALIVE IN DEATH. 


of the busy thoroughfare, the aspect of the vast city 
of which she did not know a single stone, and which 
deafened her with its continuous roar. Wliat would 
happen to her if I never woke up again, alone, friend- 
less, and unknowing as she was? 

Marguerite had seized hold of one of my hands wliich 
lay passive on the coverlet, and covering it with kisses 
she repeated, wildly : 

“Olivier, answer me. Oh, my God I he is dead, 
dead I ” 

So death was not complete annihilation. I could hear 
and think. I had been uselessly alarmed all these years. 
I had not dropped into utter vacancy as I had antici- 
pated. I could not realize the disappearance of my 
being, the suppression of all that I had been, without 
the possibility of renewed existence. I had been wont 
to shudder whenever in any book or newspaper I came 
across a date of a hundred years hence. A date at 
which I should no longer be alive, a future w^hich I 
should never see, filled me with unspeakable uneasiness. 
Was I not the whole world, and would not the universe 
crumble away when I w^as no more ? 

To dream of life in death had been a cherished vision, 
but this could not possibly be death. I should assuredly 
awake presently. Yes, in a few moments I would lean 
over, take Marguerite in my arms, and dry her tears. I 
would rest a little while longer before going to my office; 
a new life would begin, brighter than the last. How- 
ever, I did not feel impatient; the commotion had been 
too strong. It was wrong of Marguerite to give way 
like that when I had not even the strength to turn my 


THE LAST HOPE. 


247 


head on the pillow and smile at her. The next time 
that she moaned out, “He is dead! dead!” I would 
embrace her, and murmur softly so as not to startle her: 

“No, my darling, I was only asleep. You see I am 
alive, and I love you.” 

: o : 

CHAPTER II 

THE LAST HOPE. 

M ARGUERITE’S cries had attracted attention, for 
the door opened brusquely, and a voice ex- 
claimed : 

“ What is the matter, neighbor ? Is he worse?” 

I recognized the voice; it belonged to an elderly 
woman, Madame Gabin, who occupied a room on the 
same floor. She had been most obliging since our arri- 
val, and had evidently become interested in our concerns. 
On her own side she had lost no time in telling us her 
history. A stern landlord had sold her furniture during 
the preceding winter to pay himself his rent, and since 
then she had resided at the lodging-house in the Rue 
Dauphine with her daughter D^dd, a child of ten. They 
both cut and pinked lampshades; and between them 
they earned at best but two francs a day. 

“Heavens! is it all over? ” cried Madame Gabin. 

I realized that she was drawing nearer. She exam- 
ined me, touched me, and, turning to Marguerite, mur- 
mured compassionately ; “ Poor girl ! poor girl! ” 


248 


THE LAST HOPE. 


My wife, wearied out, was sobbing like a child. 
Madame Gabin lifted her, placed her in a dilapidated 
arm-chair near the fire-place, and proceeded to comfort 
her. 

“Indeed, you’ll do yourself harm if you goon like this, 
my dear. It’s no reason because your husband is gone 
that you should kill yourself with weeping. Sure 
enough, when I lost Gabin I was just like you. I 
remained three >days without swallowing a morsel of 
food. But that didn’t help me — on the contrary, it 
pulled me down. Come, for the Lord’s sake, be sen- 
sible.” 

By degrees Marguerite grew calmer ; she was ex- 
hausted, and it was only at intervals that she gave way 
to a fresh flow of tears. Meanwhile the old woman 
had taken possession of the room with a sort of rough 
authority. 

“ Don’t worry jT^ourself,” she said, as she bustled about. 
“ Neighbors must help each other. Luckily Dede has 
just gone to take the work home. Ah, I see, your 
trunks are not yet all unpacked, but I suppose there is 
some linen in the drawers — isn’t there ? ” 

I heard her pull a drawer open ; she must have taken 
out a napkin which she spread on the little table at the 
bedside. She then struck a match, which made me 
think that she was lighting one of the candles on the 
mantlepiece, and placing it near me as a religious rite. 
I could follow her movements in the room and divine all 
her actions. 

“Poor gentleman!” she muttered. “ Luckily I heard 
you sobbing, poor dear.” 


THE LAST HOPE. 


249 


Suddenly the vague liglit which my left eye had de- 
tected vanished. Madame Gabin had just closed my 
eyelids, but I had not felt her finger on my face. When 
I realized this I felt chilled. 

The door had opened again, and Dedd, the child of 
ten, now rushed in, calling out in her shrill voice: 

“ Mother, mother! Ah, I knew you would be here. 
Look here, there’s the money — three francs, four sous. 
I took back three dozen lampshades.” 

“ Hush, hush. Hold your tongue,” vainly repeated 
the mother, who, as the little girl chattered on, must 
have pointed to the bed, for I guessed that the child felt 
perplexed, and was backing against the door. 

“Is the gentleman asleep? ” she whispered. 

Yes, yes — go and play,” said Madame Gabin. 

But the child did not go. She was, no doubt, staring 
at me with widely opened eyes, startled and vaguely 
comprehending. Suddenly she seemed convulsed with a 
wild terror, and ran out, upsetting a chair. 

“ He is dead, mother, he is dead 1” she gasped. 

A profound silence followed. Marguerite, half-lying 
in the arm-chair, had left off crying. Madame Gabin 
was still rummaging about the room, and talking under 
her breath. 

“Children know everything now- a-d ays. Look at 
that brat. Heaven knows how carefully she’s brought 
up. When I send her on an errand, or to take the 
shades back, I calculate the time to a minute so that 
she can't loaf about, but for all that there isn’t a thing 
she don’t know. She saw at a glance what had hap- 
pened here — and yet I never showed her but one corpse. 


250 


THE LAST HOPE. 


her uncle Fran9ois, and slie was then only four years 
old. All, well! there are no children left — it can’t be 
helped.’^ 

She paused, and without any transition passed to 
another subject. 

I say, deary, we must think of the formalities — there’s 
the declaration at the municipal offices, and the seeing 
about the funeral. You are not in a fit state to attend 
to business. What do you say to my looking in at 
Monsieur Simoneau’s and finding out if he’s at home ? ” 

Marguerite did not reply. I seemed to watch her 
from afar, and at times to change into a subtle flame 
hovering about the room, while a stranger lay heavy and 
unconscious on my bed. I wished that Marguerite had 
declined the assistance of Simoneau. I had seen him 
three or four times during my brief illness, for he oc- 
cupied a room close to ours, and had been civil and 
neighborly. Madame Gabin had told us that he was 
merely making a short stay in Paris, having come to 
collect some old debts due to his father who had settled 
in the country and recently died. He was a tall, strong, 
handsome young fellow, and I hated him, perhaps on ac- 
count of his healthy appearance. On the previous even- 
ing he had come in, and I had disliked seeing him at 
Marguerite’s side; she had looked so fair and pretty, and 
he had gazed so intently into lier face when she smi- 
lingly thanked him for his inquiries. 

“ Ah ! here is Monsieur Simoneau,” said Madame 
Gabin, introducing him. 

He gently pushed the door ajar, and as soon as Mar- 
guerite saw him enter she burst into a passion of tears. 


THE LAST HOPE. 


251 


The presence of a friend, of the only person she knew in 
Paris besides the old woman, recalled her bereavement. 
I could not see the young man, but in the darkness 
that encompassed me, I conjured up his appearance. I 
pictured him distinctly, grave and sad at finding poor 
Marguerite in such distress. How lovely she must have 
looked with her golden hair unbound, her pale face and 
her dear little baby hands burning with fever. 

‘‘ I am at your disposal, madame,” he gently said. 

Pray allow me to manage everything.” 

She only answered with broken words, but as the 
young man was leaving, accompanied by Madame 
Gabin, I heard the latter mention money. These things 
were always expensive — she feared that the poor little 
body hadn’t a farthing — anyhow he might ask her. But 
Simoneau silenced the old woman; he did not want to 
have the widow worried ; he was going to the municipal 
offices and to the undertakers. 

AVhen silence reigned once more I wondered if this 
nightmare would last much longer. I was certainly 
alive, for I was conscious of passing incidents, and I be- 
gan to realize my condition. I must have fallen into 
one of those cataleptic states I had read of. As a child 
I had suffered from syncopes which had lasted several 
hours, but surely my heart would soon commence to beat 
anew, my blood to circulate, my muscles to relax. Yes, 
I should wake up and comfort Marguerite; and reason- 
ing thus I tried to be patient. 

Time passed. Madame Gabin had brought in her 
breakfast, but Marguerite refused to taste any food. 
Later on the afternoon waned. Through the open win- 


252 


THE LAST HOPE. 


dow I heard the rising clamor of the Eue Danphine. 
By-and-by a slight ring of the brass candlestick on tlie 
marble-topped table informed me that a fresh candle had 
been lighted. At last Simoneau returned. 

“Well?” whispered the old woman. 

“It is all settled,” he .answered ; “the funeral is or- 
dered for to-morrow’ at eleven. There is nothing for 
you to do, and you needn’t talk of these things before 
the poor lady.” 

Nevertheless, Madame Gabin remarked : 

“The doctor of the dead has not come yet.” 

Simoneau took a seat beside Marguerite, and, after a 
few words of encouragement, remained silent. The 
funeral was to take place at eleven! These words rang 
in my brain like a passing bell. And the doctor was 
coming — the doctor of the dead, as Madame Gabin had 
called him. lie could not fail to find out that I was 
only in a state of lethargy ; he would do whatever was 
necessary to rouse me, so I longed for his arrival with 
feverish anxiety. 

The day was drawing to a close. Madame Gabin, 
anxious not to waste any time, had brought in her lamp- 
shades and summoned Dede without asking Marguer- 
ite’s permission. “ To tell the truth,” as she observed, 
“she did not like to leave children too long alone.” 

“Come in, I say,” she Avhispered to the little girl, 
“come in, and don’t be frightened. And, mind you, 
don’t look towards the bed, or you’ll catch it.” 

She thought it more delicate to forbid D6d6 to look 
at me, but I was convinced that the child was furtively 
glancing at the corner where I lay, for every now and 


THE LAST HOPE. 


253 


then I heard her mother rap her knuckles sharply and 
repeat angrily: 

“Go on with your work, or you shall leave the room, 
and the gentleman will come in the night and pull you 
by the feet.” 

The mother and daughter had sat down at our table. 
I could plainly hear the click of their scissors as they 
clipped the lampshades, which, no doubt, required very 
delicate manipulation, for they did. not work rapidly. I 
counted the shades one by one as they were laid aside, 
while my anxiety grew more and more intense. 

The click of the scissors was the only noise in the 
room, so I concluded that Marguerite had been overcome 
by fatigue and was dozing. Twice Simoneau rose up, 
and the torturing thought flashed through me that he 
might be taking advantage of her slumbers to touch lier 
hair with his lips. I hardly knew the man, and yet I 
felt that he loved my wife. At last little Dedc began 
to giggle, and her laugh exasperated me. 

“Why are you sniggering, you idiot?” asked her 
mother. “ Do you want to be turned out on the land- 
ing? Come, out with it; what makes you laugh so?” 

The child stammered; she had not laughed, she had 
only coughed; but I felt certain that she had seen 
Simoneau bending over Marguerite, and had felt amused. 

The lamp had been lit, when a knock was heard. 

“It must be the doctor at last,” said the old woman. 

It was the doctor; he did not apologize for coming so 
late, for he had, no doubt, ascended many flights of stairs 
during the day. The room being but imnerfectly lighted 
by the lamp, he inquired; 


254 


THE LAST HOPE. 


“Is the body here?’’ 

“Yes, it is,” answered Simoneau. 

Marguerite had risen, trembling violently. Madame 
Gabin dismissed Ded^, saying it was useless that a child 
should be present, and she then tried to lead my wife to 
the window, to spare her the sight of what was about to 
take place. 

The doctor quickly approached the bed. I guessed 
that he was bored, tired and impatient. Had he touched 
my wrist?* Had he placed his hand on my heart? I 
could not tell ; but I fancied that he had only carelessly 
bent over me. 

“Shall I bring the lamp, so that you may see better?” 
said Simoneau, obligingly. 

“No, it is not necessary,” quietly answered the 
doctor. 

Not necessary! That man held my life in his hands, 
and he did not think it worth while to proceed to a ca]*e- 
ful examination ! I was not dead 1 I wanted to cry 
out that I was not dead 1 

“ At what o’clock did he die ? ” asked the doctor. 

“ At six this morning,” volunteered Simoneau. 

A feeling of frenzy and rebellion rose within me, 
bound as I was in seemingly iron chains. Oh, for the 
power of uttering one word, of moving a single limb! 

“ This close weather is unhealthy,” resumed the doc- 
tor ; “ nothing is more trying than these early spring 
days.” 

And then he moved away. It was my life departing. 
Screams, sobs and insults were choking me, struggling 
in my convulsed throat, in which even my breath was 


THE LAST HOPE. 


255 


arrested. The wretch ! Turned into a machine by his 
professional habits, he only came to a death -bed to ac- 
complish a perfunctory formality ; he knew nothing, his 
science was a lie, since he could not at a glance distin- 
guish life from death — and he was going — going ! 

“ Good-night, sir,” said Simoneau. 

There came a silence, the doctor was probably bow- 
ing to Marguerite, who had turned while Madame Gabin 
was fastening the window. He left the room, and I 
heard his footsteps descending the stairs. 

It was all over; I was condemned. My last hope 
had vanished with that man. If I did not wake before 
eleven to-morrow I should be buried alive. The horror 
of that thought was so great that I lost all conscious- 
ness of my surroundings — ’twas something like a faint- 
ing fit in death. The last sound I heard was the little 
click of the scissors handled by Madame Gabin and 
D^de. The funeral vigil had begun ; nobody spoke. 

Marguerite had refused to retire to rest in tlie neigh- 
bor’s room. She remained half Ijnng in her arm-chair, 
with her beautiful pale face, her closed eyes and long 
eye-lashes wet with tears, while before her in the shadow 
Simoneau sat silently watching her. 


256 


THE FUNEKAL. 


CnAPTEE III. 

THE FUNERAL. 

I CANNOT describe my agony during the morning 
of the next day. I remember it as a hideous 
dream, in which my impressions were ghastly and con- 
fused, The persistent yearning for a sudden awakening 
increased my torture; and as the hour for the funeral 
drew nearer, my anguish became more poignant still. 

It was only at daybreak that I had recovered a fuller 
consciousness of what was going on around me. The 
creaking of hinges first startled me out of my stupor. 
Madame Gabin had just opened the window. It must 
have been about seven o’clock, for I heard the cries of 
costermongers in the street, the shrill voice of a girl 
offering groundsel, and the hoarse voice of a man shout- 
ing “ carrots ! ” The clamorous awakening of Paris 
pacified me at first. I could not believe that I should 
be laid under the sod in the midst of so much life, and 
then a sudden thought helped to calm me. It had just 
occurred to me that I had witnessed a case similar to 
my own while I was employed at the hospital of Gud- 
rande. A man had been sleeping for twenty-eight 
hours; the doctors remaining uncertain and hesitating 
before his apparent lifelessness, when suddenly he sat up 
in bed, and was almost at once able to rise. I myself 
had already been asleep for some twenty-five hours ; if 
I awoke at ten I should still be in time. 


THE FUNERAL. 


25 T 


I endeavored to make out who was in the room and 
what was going on there. Dedd must have been play- 
ing on the landing, for once when the door opened I 
heard her shrill childish laughter outside. Simoneau 
must have retired, for nothing indicated his presence. 
Madame Gabin’s slipshod tread was still audible over 
the floor. At last she spoke. 

“Come, my dear,’^ she said. “You are wTong not to 
take it while it is hot. It would cheer you up.” 

She was addi’essing Marguerite, and the slow trickling 
of drops through a filter indicated that she had been 
making some coffee. 

“ I don’t mind owning,” she continued, “ that I needed 
it. At my age sitting up is trying. The night seems 
so dreary when there is a misfortune in the house. Do 
have a cup of coffee, my dear — just a drop.” 

She persuaded Marguerite to taste it. 

“ Isn’t it nice and hot,” she continued ; “ and don't it 
set j^ou up. Ah ! you’ll be wanting all your strength 
presently for what you’ve got to go through to-day. 
Now, if you were sensible you’d step into my room and 
just wait there.” 

“ No ; I want to stay here,” said Marguerite, reso- 
lutely. 

Her voice, which I had not heard since the previous 
evening, touched me strangely. It was changed and 
broken with tears. To feel my dear wife near me was a 
last consolation. I knew that her eyes were fastened on 
me, and that she wept with all the anguish of her heart. 

The minutes were flying. An inexplicable noise 
sounded from beyond the door. It seemed as if some 
* 16 


253 


THE FUNERAL. 


people were bringing a bulky piece of furniture up-stairs, 
and knocking against tlie walls as they did so. Sud- 
denly I understood, as I heard Marguerite begin to sob : 
it was the coffin. 

You are too early,” said Madame Gabin, crossly. 
“ Put it behind the bed.” 

AVhat o’clock was it ? Nine, perhaps. So the coffiYi 
had come. Amid the opaque night around me I could 
see it plainly, quite new, with roughly planed boards. 
Heavens! was this the end, then? Was I to be borne 
oft* in that box which I realized was lying at my feet? 

However, I had one supreme joy. Marguerite, in 
spite of her weakness, insisted upon discharging all the 
last offices. Assisted by the old woman she dressed me 
with all the tenderness of a wife and a sister. Once more 
I felt myself in her arms as she clothed me in various 
garments. She paused at times, overcome by grief; she 
clasped me convulsively, and her tears rained on my 
face. Oh [ how I longed to return her embrace, and 
cry, live!” And yet I was lying there powerless, 
motionless, inert! 

‘‘You are very foolish,” suddenly said Madame 
Gabin ,% “ it is all wasted.” 

“Never mind,” answered Marguerite, sobbing. “I 
want him to wear his very best things.” 

I understood that she was dressing me in the clothes 
I had worn on my wedding-day. I had kept them care- 
fully for great occasions. When she had finished she 
fell back exhausted in the arm-chair. 

Simoneau now spoke; he had probably just entered 
the room. 


THE FUNERAL. 


259 


“ They are below,” he whispered. 

“Well, it ain’t any too soon,” answered Madame 
Gabin, also lowering her voice. “ Tell them to come up 
and have it over.” 

“ But I dread the despair of the poor little wife.” 

The old woman seemed to reflect and presently re- 
sumed : 

“Listen to me. Monsieur Simoneau. You must take 
her oft* to my room. I wouldn’t have her stop here. It 
is for her own good. When she is out of the way we’ll 
get it done in a jiffy.” 

These words pierced my heart, and my anguish was 
intense when I realized that a struggle was actually 
taking place. Simoneau had walked up to Marguerite, 
imploring her to leave the room. 

“ Do, for pity’s sake, come with me,” he pleaded. 
“Spare yourself a useless pain.” 

“ No, no ! ” she cried, “ I will remain till the last min- 
ute. Remember that I have only him in the world, and 
when he is gone I shall be all alone ! ” 

From the bedside Madame Gabin was prompting the 
young man. 

“ Don’t parley — take hold of her — carry her off in 
your arms.” 

Was Simoneau going to lay his hands on Marguerite 
and bear her away ? She screamed. I wildly endeav- 
ored to rise, but the springs of my limbs were broken. 
I remained rigid, unable even to lift my eyelid^ to see 
what was going on. The struggle continued, and my 
wife clung to the furniture, repeating : 

“Oh, don’t, don’t ! Have mercy I Let m.e go !” 


260 


THE FUNERAL. 


He must have lifted her in his stalwart arms, for I 
heard her moaning like a child. He bore her away, her 
sobs were lost in the distance, and I fancied I saw them 
both — he, tall and strong, pressing her to his breast; 
she, fainting, powerless and conquered, following him 
wherever he listed. 

“ Drat it all I what a to-do 1 ” muttered Madame 
Gabin. “Kowfor the tug of war, as the coast is clear 
at last.” 

In my jealous madness I looked upon this incident as 
a monstrous outrage. I had not been able to see Mar- 
guerite for twenty- four hours, but at least I had still 
heard her voice. Now even this was denied me ; she 
had been torn away, a man had eloped with her even 
before I was laid under tlie sod. He was alone with 
her, on the other side of the wall, comforting her — em- 
bracing her, perhaps! 

But the door opened once more, and heavy footsteps 
shook the floor. 

“ Quick, make haste,” repeated Madame Gabin. 
“ Get it done before the lady comes back.” 

She was speaking to some strangers, who merely 
answered her with uncouth grunts. 

“You understand,” she went on, “ I am not a relation, 
I’m only a neighbor. I have no interest in the mat- 
ter. It is out of pure good-nature that I h^ave mixed 
myself up in their affairs. And it ain’t over cheerful, I 
can tell you. Yes, yes, I sat up the whole blessed night 
• — it was pretty cold, too — about four o’clock. That’s 
a fact. Well, I have always been a fool — I’m too soft- 
hearted.” 


THE FUNERAL. 


261 


The coflUn had been dragged into tlie centre of the 
room. As I had not awakened I was condemned. My 
ideas lost their clearness, everything seemed to revolve 
in a black haze, and I experienced such utter lassitude 
that it seemed almost a relief to leave off hoping. 

“ They haven’t spared the material,” said one of the 
undertaker’s men, in a gruff voice. ‘‘The box is too 
long.” 

“ He’ll have all the more room,” said the other, laugh- 
ing. 

I was not heavy, and they chuckled over it since they 
had three flights of stairs to descend. As they were 
seizing me by the shoulders and feet, I heard Madame 
Gabin fly into a violent passion. 

“You cursed little brat,” she screamed, “what do you 
mean by poking your nose where you’re not wanted ? 
Look here, I’ll teach you to spy and pry.” 

Dede had slipped her touzled head through the door- 
way to see how the gentleman was being put into the 
box. Two ringing slaps now sounded, followed by an 
explosion of sobs. As soon as the mother returned she 
began to gossip about her daughter for the benefit of the 
two men who were settling me in the coffin. 

“ She is only ten, you know. She is not a bad sort of 
a girl, but she is frightfully inquisitive. I do not beat 
her often, only I will be obeyed.” 

“ Oh,” said one of the men, “ all kids are alike. When- 
ever there is a corpse lying about they always want to 
see it.” 

I was commodiously stretched out, and I might have 
thought myself still in my bed, had it not been that my 


262 


THE FUNERAL. 


left arm felt a trifle cramped from being squeezed against 
a board. The men had been right. I was pretty com- 
fortable inside on account of my diminutive stature. 

“ Stop ! ” suddenly exclaimed Madame Gabin. “ I 
promised his wife to put a pillow under his head.” 

The men, who were in a hurry, stuffed in the pillow 
roughly. One of them, who had mislaid his hammer, 
began to swear. He had left the tool below, and went 
to fetch it, dropping the lid ; and when two sharp blows 
of the hammer drove in the first nail, a shock ran through 
my being — I had ceased to live. The nails now entered 
in rapid succession with a rhythmical cadence. It was 
as if some packers had been. closing a case of dried 
fruit with easy dexterity. After that such sounds as 
reached me were deadened and strangely prolonged, as if 
the deal coffin had been changed into a huge music-box. 
The last words spoken in the room of the Eue Dauphine 
— at least the last ones I heard distinctly — were uttered 
by Madame Gabin. 

“Mind the staircase,” she said, “the banister of the 
second flight isn’t safe, so be careful.” 

While I was being carried down, I experienced a sen- 
sation similar to that of pitching, as when one is on board 
a ship in a rough sea. However, from that moment my 
impressions became more vague. I remember that the 
only distinct thought that still possessed me was an 
imbecile" impulsive curiosity as to by which road I 
should be taken to the cemetery. I was not acquainted 
with a single street of Paris, and I was ignorant of the 
position of the large burial grounds (though, of course, I 
had occasionally heard their names), and yet every effort 


THE FUNERAL. 


263 


of my mind was directed upon ascertaining whether we 
were turning to the right or to the left. Meanwhile, the 
hearse, jolting over the paving stones, the rumbling of 
passing vehicles, the steps of the loot-passengers, all cre- 
ated a confused clamor, intensified by the acoustical 
properties of the coffin. 

At first I followed our course pretty closely ; then 
came a halt. I was again lifted and carried about, and 
I concluded that we were in a church ; but when the 
funeral procession once more moved onwards, I lost all 
consciousness of the road we took. A ringing of bells 
informed me that we were passing another church, and 
then the softer and easier progress of the wheels indi- 
cated that we were skirting a garden or park. I was 
like a victim being taken to the gallows, stupidly await- 
ing the death-blow that never came. 

At last they stopped and pulled me out of the hearse 
— the business proceeded rapidly. The noises had 
ceased ; I knew that I was in a deserted space amid 
avenues of trees, and with tlie broad sky over my head. 
No doubt a few persons followed the bier, some of the 
inhabitants of the lodging-house, perhaps — Simoneau and 
others, for instance — for faint whisperings reached my 
ear. Then I heard a chanted psalm, and some Latin 
words mumbled by a priest, after which I suddenly felt 
myself sinking, while the ropes rubbing against the 
angles of the coffin elicited lugubrious sounds as if a bow 
were being drawn across the strings of a cracked violon- 
cello. It was tlie end. On the left side of my head I 
felt a violent concussion like that produced by the burst- 
ing of a bomb; there was another shock under my feet, 


264 


BURIED ALIVE. 


and a third mote violent still on my chest. So forcible, 
indeed, was this last one that I thought the lid was cleft 
in twain. I fainted. 

:o: 

CHAPTER IV. 

BURIED ALIVE. 

I T is impossible for me to say how long my swoon 
lasted. Eternity is not of longer duration than one 
second in nihility. I was no more. Slowly, confusedly, 
I regained some degree of consciousness. I was still 
asleep, but I began to dream ; a nightmare started into 
shape from the blackness of my horizon ; it was a strange 
fancy which in other days had haunted my morbid 
imagination, whenever with my propensity for dwelling 
upon hideous thoughts I had conjured up catastrophes. 

Thus I dreamed that my wife was expecting me some- 
where — at Guerande, I believe — and that I was going to 
join her by rail. As we passed under a tunnel a deaf- 
ening roll thundered over our heads ; a sudden sub- 
sidence had blocked up both issues of the tunnel, 
leaving our train intact in the centre. We were walled 
up by blocks of rock in the heart of the mountain. Then 
a long and fearful agony commenced. No assistance 
could possibly reach us ; it would take a month to clear 
the tunnel even with powerful engines and incessant 
labor. We were prisoners in a cave with no outlet, so 
that our death was only a question of time. 


BURIED ALIVE. 


265 


My fancy had often dwelt on this hideous drama, con- 
stantly varying the details and touches. My actors were 
men, women and children; their number increased to 
hundreds, and they were ever furnishing rne with new 
incidents. There were some provisions in the train, but 
these were soon exhausted, and the hungry passengers, 
if they did not actually devour human flesh, at least 
fought furiously over the last piece of bread. Sometimes 
an aged man was driven back with blows and slowly 
perished; a mother struggled like a she- wolf to keep 
three or four mouthfuls for her child. In my own com- 
partment a bride and bridegroom were dying, clasped in 
each other’s arms in mute despair. 

The line was free along the w^hole length of the train, 
and people came and went, prowling round the carriages 
like beasts of prey in search of carrion. All classes 
were confounded. A millionaire, a high functionary, it 
was said, wept on a workman’s shoulder. The lamps 
had been extinguished from the first, and the engine fire 
was nearly out. To pass from one carriage to another 
it was necessary to grope about, and thus, too, one slowly 
reached the engine, recognizable by its enormous barrel, 
its cold, immobile flanks, its useless strength, its grim 
silence in the overwhelming night. Nothing could be 
more appalling than this train entombed alive with its 
passengers perishing one by one. 

I gloated over the ghastliness of each detail ; howls 
resounded through the vault ; somebody, whom one 
could not see, whose vicinity was not even suspected, 
would drop upon one’s shoulder. But what affected me 
most of all was the cold and the want of air. I had 


266 


BURIED ALIVE, 


uever felt so cliilled, a mantle of snow seemed to emvrap 
me, a heavy moisture rained upon my skull, I was suffo- 
cating ; the rocky vault appeared to crush my chest, the 
whole mountain was seemingly weighing upon me. 

Suddenly a cry of deliverance sounded. For. some 
time past we had fancied we could hear a dull sound, 
and we tried to hope that men were at work and that 
help was coming ; but it came not thus. One of the 
passengers, however, had discovered an air-shaft in the 
tunnel, and crowding round we all saw this shaft, above 
which we could discern a blue patch about the size of a 
wafer. That blue patch filled us with rapture, for it was 
the sky. We stretched ourselves and stood on tiptoe to 
breathe more freely. Then we distinguished some black 
specks moving about, specks that must surely be work- 
men about to deliver us. A furious clamor arose. The 
cry, Saved! saved!” burst from every mouth, while 
trembling arms were uplifted towards the tiny azure 
patch above. 

That roar of voices aroused me. Where was I ? In 
the tunnel, of course. I was lying at full length, hard 
walls were pressing against my ribs. Then I attempted 
to rise and struck my head roughly. Was it the rock 
closing in on all sides? The blue speck had vanished — 
aye, the sky had disappeared — and I was still suffoca- 
ting, shivering, with chattering teeth. 

All at once I remembered. A great horror lifted my 
hair, I felt the hideous truth freeze me from head to foot 
like ice. I had shaken oft‘ the long coma which for so 
many hours had stricken me with corpse-like rigidity. 
Yes, I could move; my hands felt the boards of my 


BURIED ALIVE. 


267 


coffin, my lips parted, words came to me, and instinc- 
tively I called out Marguerite’s name. It was a scream 
T raised. In that deal box my voice had acquired so 
hoarse and weird a sound that it terrified me. Oh, my 
God! was this thing true? I was able to walk, speak, 
cry out that I was living, and yet my voice could not be 
heard ; I was entombed under the earth, 

I made a desperate effort to remain calm and reflect. 
Was there no means of getting out? Then my dream 
began afresh in my troubled brain. The fanciful air- 
shaft, with the blue bit of sky overhead, was mingled 
with the real grave in which I was lying. I stared at 
the darkness with widely-opened eyes; perhaps I might 
discover a hole, a slit, a glimmer of light; but only 
sparks of fire flitted through that night, with rays that 
broadened and then faded away. I was in a sombre 
abyss again. With returning lucidity I struggled against 
these fatal visions. Indeed, I needed all my reason if I 
meant to try to save myself. 

The most immediate peril lay in the increasing sense 
of suffocation. If I had been able to live so long with- 
out air, it was owing to the suspended animation which 
had changed all the normal conditions of my existence; 
but now that my heart beat, my lungs breathed, I should 
die asphyxiated if I did not promptly liberate myself. 
I also suffered from cold, and dreaded lest I should suc- 
cumb to the mortal numbness of those who fall asleep 
in the snow never to wake again. Still, while unceas- 
ingly realizing the necessity of remaining calm, I felt 
maddening blasts sweep through my brain, and to quiet 
my senses I exhorted myself to patience, trying to 


268 


BURIED ALIVE. 


rememLer the circumstances of my burial. Probably 
the ground had been bought for five years, and this 
would be against my chances of self-deliverance, for I 
remembered having noticed at Nantes that in the 
trenches of the common graves one end of the last 
lowered coffins protruded into the next open cavity, in 
which case I should only have had to break through one 
plank. But if I were in a separate hole, filled up above 
me with a heavy mass of earth, the obstacles would 
prove too great. Had I not been told that the dead 
were buried six feet deep in Paris? How was I to 
pierce through the enormous mass of soil above me? 
Even if I succeeded in slitting the lid of my bier open, 
the mould would drift in like fine sand and fill my mouth 
and eyes. That would be death again, a ghastly death, 
like drowning in mud. 

However, I began to feel the planks carefully. The 
coffin was roomy, and I found that I was able to move 
my anns with tolerable ease. On both sides the roughly 
planed boards were stout and resistive. I slipped my 
arm on to my chest to raise it over my head. There I 
discovered in the top plank a knot in the wood which 
yielded slightly at my pressure. Working laboriously I 
finally succeeded in driving out this knot, and on passing 
my finger through the hole I found that the earth above 
was wet and clayey. But that availed me little. 1 even 
regretted having removed the knot, vaguely dreading 
the irruption of tlie mould. A second experiment occu- 
pied me for awhile. I tapped all over the coffin to ascer- 
tain if perchance there were any vacuum outside. But 
the sound was everywhere the same. At last, as I was 


BURIED ALIVE. 


269 


slightly kicking the foot of the coffin, I fancied that it 
gave out a clearer echoing noise; but that might merely 
be produced by the sonority of the wood. 

At any rate I began to press regularly against the 
boards with my arms and my closed fists. In the same 
way, too, I used my knees, my back, and my feet, with- 
out eliciting even a creak from the wood. I strained 
with all my strength ; indeed, with so desperate an effort 
of my whole frame that my bruised bones seemed break- 
ing. But nothing moved, and I became insane. 

Up to that minute I had held delirium at bay. I had 
mastered tlie intoxicating rage, mounting to my head 
like the fames of alcohol ; I had silenced my screams, 
for I feared that if I again cried out aload I should be 
undone. But now I yelled, I shouted; unearthly howls 
which I could not repress issued from my relaxed throat. 
I called for help in a voice that I did not recognize, 
growing wilder with each fresh appeal, and crying out 
that I would not die. I also tore at the wood with my 
nails; I writhed with the contortions of a caged wolf. 
I do not know how long this fit of madness lasted, but I 
can still feel the relentless hardness of the box that 
imprisoned me; I can still hear the storm of shrieks 
and sobs with which I filled it at times; a remaining 
glimmer of reason made me try to stop, but I could not 
do so. 

A great exhaustion followed. I lay waiting for death 
in a state of somnolent pain. The coffin was like stone, 
which no effort could break, and the conviction of my 
impotence left me unnerved, without courage to make 
any fresh attempts. Another suffering — hunger — was 


270 


BURIED ALIVE. 


presently added to cold and want of air. The torture 
soon became intolerable. With my finger I tried to 
pull small pinches of earth through the whole of the 
dislodged knot, and I swallowed them eagerly, only in- 
creasing my torment. Tempted by my flesh, I bit my 
arms and sucked my skin with a fiendish desire to 
plunge my teeth in deeper ; but I was afraid of drawing 
blood. 

Then I ardently longed for death. All my life long I 
had trembled at the thought of dissolution, but I had 
come to yearn for it, to crave for an everlasting night 
that could never be dark enough. How childish it had 
been of me to dread the long, dreamless sleep, the 
eternity of silence and gloom. Death was kind, for in 
suppressing life it put an end to suffering. Oh! to 
sleep like the stones, to be no more! 

With my groping hands I aimlessly continued feeling 
the wood, and suddenly I pricked my left thumb. The 
slight pain startled me out of my growing numbness. 
What could have caused it? I felt again, and found a 
nail — a nail which the undertaker’s men had driven in 
crookedly and which had not caught in the lower wood. 
It was long and very sharp; the head was secured to the 
lid, but it moved. Henceforth I had but one idea — to 
possess myself of that nail; and I slipped my right 
hand across my body and began to shake it. I made 
but little progress, however, it was a difficult job ; for 
my hands soon tired, and I had to use them alternately, 
the left one, too, was of little use, on account of the nail’s 
awkward position. 

While I was obstinately persevering, a plan was form- 


BURIED ALIVE. 


271 


ing in my head. That nail meant salvation, and I must 
have it. But should I get it in time? Hunger was 
torturing me, my brain was swimming, my limbs were 
losing their power, my mind was becoming confused. I 
had sucked the drops that trickled from my punctured 
finger, and suddenly I bit my arm and drank my own 
blood ! Then spurred on by pain, revived by the tepid, 
acrid liquor that moistened my lips, I tore desperately 
at the nail, and at last I wrenched it off I 

I then believed in success. My plan was a simple 
one : I pushed the point of the nail into the lid, 
dragging it along as far as I could in a straight line, and 
working it so as to make a slit in the wood. My fingers 
stiffened, but I doggedly persevered, and when I fancied 
that I had sufficiently cut into the board I turned on 
my stomach, and lifting myself on my knees and elbows 
thrust the whole strength of my back against the lid. 
But although it creaked, it did not yield; the notched 
line was not deep enough. I had to resume my old 
position — which I only managed to do with infinite 
trouble — and work afresh. At last, after another su- 
preme effort, tlie lid was cleft from end to end. 

I was not saved as yet, but my heart beat with re- 
newed hope. I had ceased pushing and remained 
motionless, lest a sudden fall of earth should bury me. 
I intended to use the lid as a screen, and with its protec- 
tion to open a sort of shaft in the clayey soil. Unfor- 
tunately I w'as assailed by unexpected difficulties. Some 
heavy clods of earth roughly detached, weighed upon 
the boards and made them unmanageable; I foresaw 
that I should never reach the surface in that way, for 


272 


BACK FROM THE GRAVE. 


the crumbling mass of soil was already bending my 
spine and crushing my face. 

Once more I stopped affrighted; then suddenly, while 
I was stretching out my legs trying to find a point 
of resistance for my feet, I felt the end board of the 
coffin yielding. I at once gave a desperate kick with 
my heels, in the faint hope that there might be a freshly 
dug grave in this direction. 

It was so. My feet abruptly forced their way into 
space. An open grave was there ; I had only a slight 
partition of earth to displace, and soon I rolled into it. 
I was saved ! 

I remained for a time lying on my back in the cavity, 
with my eyes raised to heaven. It was dark, the stars 
were shining in a sky of velvety blueness. Now and 
then the rising breeze wafted a spring-like freshness, a 
perfume of foilage upon me. I was saved ! I could 
breathe, I felt warm ; and I wept, and I stammered, 
with my arms prayerfully extended towards the starry 
sky. Oh, God I how sweet seemed life. 


o:- 


CHAPTEK Y, 


BACK FROM THE GRAVE. 



Y first impulse was to find the custodian of the 


cemetery and ask him to have me conducted 
home, but vague ideas prevented me from following this 
course. My return would create general alarm ; why 


BACK FROM THE GRAVE. 


273 


should I hurry now that I was master of the situation? 
I felt my limbs ; I had only an insignificant wound on 
my left arm, where I had bitten myself, and a slight 
feverishness lent me unhoped-for strength. 

Still I lingered; all sorts of troubled visions confused 
my mind. I had felt beside me in the open grave some 
sexton’s tools which had been left there, and I conceived 
a sudden wish to repair the damage I had made, to close 
up the hole through which I had crept, so as to conceal 
all traces of my resurrection. I do not believe that I 
had any positive motive in doing so. I only deemed it 
useless to proclaim my adventure, feeling ashamed to 
find myself alive when the whole world thought me 
dead. In half an hour every trace of my escape was 
obliterated, and then I climbed out of the hole. 

The night was splendid, and deep silence reigned in 
the cemetery ; the black trees threw motionless shadows 
over the whiteness of the tombs. When I endeavored 
to ascertain my bearings, I noticed that one-half of the 
sky was reddened as if lit up by a huge conflagration ; 
Paris was in that direction, and I moved towards it, fol- 
lowing a long avenue, amid the darkness of the branches. 

Ilowever, after I had gone some fifty yards, I was 
compelled to stop, feeling faint and weary. I then sat 
down on a stone bench, and for the first time looked at 
myself. I was fully attired with the exception that 
had no hat. I blessed my beloved Marguerite for the 
pious thought which had prompted her to dress me in 
my best clothes — those which I had wprn at our wed: 
ding. That remembrance of. my wife brought me to my 
feet again. I longed to sec her without delay. 

17 


274 


BACK FROM THE GRAVE, 


At tlie further end of tlie avenue I had taken, a wall 
arrested my progress. However, I climbed to the top 
of a monument, reached the summit of the wall, and 
then dropped over the other side. Although rudely 
shaken by the fall, I managed to walk for a few minutes 
along a broad, deserted street skirting the cemetery. I 
had no notion as to where I was, but with the reitera- 
tion of monomania, I kept saying to mj self that I was 
going towards Paris, and that I should find the Eue 
Dauphine somehow or other. Several people passed 
me, but seized with sudden distrust, I would not stop 
them and ask my way. I have since realized that I was 
then in a burning fever, and already nearly delirious. 
Finally, just as I reached a large thoroughfare, I became 
giddy and fell heavily upon the pavement. 

Here there is a blank in my life. For three whole 
weeks I remained unconscious. When I awoke at last 
I found myself in a strange room. A man who was 
nursing me told me quietly that he had picked me up 
one morning on the Boulevard Montparnasse, and had 
brought me to his house. He was an old doctor who 
had given up practising. 

When I attempted to thank him, he sharply answered 
that my case had seemed a curious one, and that he had 
wished to study it. Moreover, during the first few days 
of my convalescence he would not allow me to ask a 
single question ; and later on, he never put one to me. 
For eight days longer I remained in bed, feeling very 
weak, and not even trying to remember, for memory 
was a weariness and a pain. I felt half-ashamed and 
half-afraid. As soon as I could leave the house I would 


BACK FROM THE GRAVE. 275 

go and find out whatever T wanted to know. Possibly 
in the delirium of fever a name had escaped me ; but 
the doctor never alluded to anything I may have said. 
Ilis charity was not only generous, it was discreet. 

The summer had come at last, and one warm June 
morning I was at length permitted to take a short walk. 
The sun was shining with that joyous brightness 
which imparts renewed youth to the streets of old 
Paris. I went along slowly, questioning the passers-by 
at every crossing I came to, and asking the way to the 
Eue Dauphine. When I reached the street I had some 
difficulty in recognizing the lodging-house where we had 
alighted on our arrival in the capital. A childish terror 
made me hesitate. If I appeared suddenly before Mar- 
guerite, the shock might kill her. It might be wiser to 
begin by revealing myself to our neighbor, Madame 
Gabin; still, I shrank from taking a third party into my 
confidence. I seemed unable to arrive at a resolution, 
and yet in my innermost heart I felt a great void, like 
that left by some sacrifice long since consummated. 

The building looked quite yellow in the sunshine. I 
had just recognized it by a shabby eating-house on the 
ground fioor, where we had ordered our meals, having 
them sent up to us. Then I raised my eyes to the last 
window’’ of the third floor on tlie left hand side, and as I 
looked at it a young woman with tumbled hair, wearing 
a loose dressing-gowm, appeared and leant her elbows on 
the sill. A young man followed and imprinted a kiss 
upon her neck. It was not Marguerite. Still, I felt no 
surprise. It seemed to me that I had dreamed all this, 
with other things, too, which I was to learn presently. 


276 


BACK FROM THE GRAVE. 


For a moment I remained in the street, uncertain 
vdietlier I had better go up-stairs and question the lov- 
ers, who were still laugliing in the sunshine. However, 
I decided to enter the little restaurant below. When I 
started on my walk, the old doctor had placed a five- 
franc piece in my hand. No doubt I was changed 
beyond recognition, for my beard had grown during the 
brain fever, and my face was wrinkled and haggard. 
As I took a seat at a small table, I saw Madame Gabin 
come in, carrying a cup; she wished to buy two sous’ 
worth of coffee. Standing in front of the counter, she 
began to gossip with the landlady of the establishment. 

“Well,” said the latter, “so the poor little woman 
of the third floor has made up her mind at last, eh?” 

“ How could she help herself? ” answered Madame 
Gabin; “it was the very best thing for her to do. Mon- 
sieur Simoneau showed her so much kindness. You see, 
he had finished his business in Paris to his satisfaction, 
for he has inherited a pot of money. Well, he offered 
to take her away with him to his own part of the coun- 
try, and place her with an aunt of his, who wants a 
housekeeper and companion.” 

The landlady laughed archly. I buried my face in a 
newspaper which I picked off* the table. My lips were 
white and my hands shook. 

“It will end in a marriage, of course,” resumed Ma- 
dame Gabin. “ But I can swear on my honor that I have 
never seen anything the least suspicious. The little 
widow mourned for her husband very properly, and the 
young man was extremely well-behaved. Well, they 
left last night.” 


BACK FROM THE GRAVE. 


277 


Just then the side door of the restaurant communica- 
ting with the passage of the house opened, and Cede 
appeared. 

“ Mother, ain’t you coming ? ” she cried. “ I’m waiting, 
you know ; do be quick.” 

“ Presently,” said the mother, testily. “ Don’t bother.” 

The girl stood listening to the two women, with the 
preeocious shrewdness of a child born and reared amid 
the streets of Paris. 

When all is said and done,” explained Madame 
Gabin, ‘‘ the dear departed did not come up to Monsieur 
Simoneau, I didn’t fancy him over much; he was a puny 
sort of a man, a poor, fretful fellow — and he hadn’t a 
sou to bless himself with. No, candidly, he wasn’t 
the kind of husband for a young and healthy wife, 
whereas Monsieur Simoneau is rich, you know, and as 
strong as a Turk.” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” interrupted Dede. “ That’s so I ” 

“ Get along with you,” screamed the old woman, shov- 
ing the girl out of the restaurant. “You are always 
poking your nose where it has no business to be.” 

Then she concluded with these words : 

“Look here, to my mind the other one did quite right 
to take himself oT. It was fine luck for the little 
woman ! ” 

When I found myself in the street again, I walked 
along slowly with trembling limbs. And yet I was not 
suffering much ; I think I smiled once at my shadow in 
the sun. It was quite true. I was very puny. It had 
been a queer notion of mine to marry Marguerite. I 
recalled her weariness at Guerande, her impatience, her 


278 


BACK FROM THE GRAVE. 


dull, monotonous life. The dear creature had been very 
good to me, but I had never been a real lover ; she had 
mourned for me as a sister for her brother, not other- 
wise ! Why should I again disturb her life ? A dead 
man is not jealous. 

When I lifted my eyelids I saw the garden of the 
Luxembourg before me. I entered it, and took a seat in 
the sun, dreaming with a sense of infinite restful ness. 
The thought of Marguerite stirred me softly. I pic- 
tured her in the provinces beloved, petted and very 
happy. She had grown handsomer, and she was the 
mother of three boys and two girls. It was all right. I 
had behaved like an honest man in dying, and I would 
not commit the cruel folly of coming to life again. 

Since then I have travelled a good deal. I have been 
a little bit everywhere. I am an ordinary man who has 
toiled and eaten like anybody else. Death no longer 
frightens me, but it does not seem to care for me now 
that I have no motive in living ; and I sometimes fear 
that I have been forgotten upon earth. 


THE SOLDIERS’ DREAMS. 

BY Emile zola. 


F our soldiers, the night after the victory, had 
encamped in a deserted corner of the field of 
battle. Darkness had come on, and they were supping 
joyously amid the slain. 

Seated in the grass, around a fire, they were broiling 
on the coals, cuts of lamb, which they devoured still 
bleeding. The ruddy gleam of the fire vaguely illumi- 
nated them, projecting afar their gigantic shadows. At 
times, pale flashes ran over the weapons lying around 
them, and then one saw' amid the darkness men who 
were sleeping with open eyes. 

The soldiers laughed in long bursts, without seeing 
those glances which were fixed upon them. The day 
had been a hard one. Not knowing what the morrow 
had in store for them, they were enjoying the food and 
rest of the moment. 

Night and Death were flying over the field of battle, 
down on which their huge wings shook silence and 
terror. 

The repast finished, Gneuss sang. His sonorous voice 
was broken in the sad and troubled air ; the song, joy- 
ous on his lips, was echoed back like a sob. Astonished 
at these accents which came from his mouth and which 

( 279 ) 


280 


THE soldiers’ DREAMS. 


be did not recognize, the soldier sang in a louder tone, 
when a terrible cry, emerging from the gloom, shot 
through space. 

Gneuss paused, seized with uneasiness. He said to 
El berg : 

“ Go see what corpse has awakened.” 

Elberg took a flaming brand and departed. His 
companions were able to follow him for a few instants 
by the light of the torch. Tliey saw him bend, exam- 
ining the dead, searching among the bushes with his 
sword. Then, he disappeared. 

Clerian,” said Gneuss, after a period of silence, “ the 
wolves are roaming about to-night; go seek our friend.” 

And Clerian, in his turn, was lost in the darkness. 

Gneuss and Flem, weary of waiting, wrapped them- 
selves in their cloaks and stretched themselves out be- 
side the half-extinguished fire. Their eyes closed, when 
the same terrible cry passed over tlieir heads. Flem 
silently arose and walked towards the gloom in which 
his two companions had vanished. 

Then, Gneuss found himself alone. He was afraid, 
afraid of that black gulf through which ran a rattle of 
agony. He threw some dry grass on the fire, hoping 
that the brightness of the flame would drive away his 
terror. The flame mounted with a bloody look ; the 
ground was lighted up in a broad, luminous circle ; in 
this circle, the bushes danced fantastically, and thedead, 
who were sleeping in their shadows, seemed shaken by 
invisible hands. 

Gneuss grew afraid of the light. He scattered the 
burning grass, extinguished it beneath his heels. As 


THE soldiers’ DREAMS. 


281 


t1ie darkness returned, heavier and thicker than before, 
lie shivered, dreading to hear the cry of death pass. He 
seated himself, then arose to call his companions. Ilis 
shouts terrified him; he feared he had attracted the 
attention of the corpses. 

The moon appeared, and Gneuss saw with terror a 
pale ray glide over the field of battle. Now, the night 
no longer concealed the horror. The devastated plain, 
sown with wrecks and with the dead, stretched away 
before his eyes, covered with a winding-sheet of light ; 
and this light, which was not that of day, illuminated 
the shadows, without dissipating their silent terrors. 

Gneuss, standing there, with sweat upon his foreliead, 
thought of climbing the hill to put out the pale torch of 
night. lie asked himself what kept the dead from 
starting up and coming to surround him, now that they 
saw him. Their motionlessness filled him with an- 
guish ; in the expectation of some terrible event, he 
closed his eyes. 

And, as he stood there, he felt something lukewarm 
touch his left heel. He stooped towards the ground, 
when he perceived a thin stream of blood fleeing be- 
neath his feet. This stream, bounding from pebble to 
pebble, flowed with a gay murmur ; it came from the 
darkness — it twisted itself in a ray of the moon to flee 
and return to the darkness; one might have likened it 
to a serpent with black scales, the rings of which slipped 
along and followed each other incessantly. Gneuss re- 
coiled, without the power to close his eyes again ; a 
frightful contraction kept them wide open, fixed on the 
bloody stream. 


282 


THE soldiers’ DREAMS. 


He saw it swell it slowly, widen in its bed. The 
stream became a brook, a slow and quiet brook, over 
which an infant could have leaped at a single spring. 
The brook became a torrent and swept over the ground 
with a hollow noise, hurling upon its sides a ruddy 
foam. The torrent became a river, an immense river. 

This river bore away the corpses ; and it was a horri- 
ble prodigy that the blood had flowed from wounds in 
such abundance that it carried the dead along with it. 

Gneuss still recoiled before the swelling flood. He 
could no longer see the other shore ; it seemed to him 
that the valley was being changed into a lake. 

Suddenly, he found himself with his back against a 
wall of rocks ; he was forced to arrest his flight. Then, 
he felt the waves beat his knees. The corpses, which 
the current was bearing along, insulted him as they 
passed ; each one of their wounds had become a mouth 
which jeered at him because of his fright. The thick 
sea swelled, swelled incessantly ; now, it was groaning 
around his hips. He drew himself up with a supreme 
effort, he clung to the clefts of the rocks ; the rocks 
crumbled, he fell back, and the flood covered his 
shoulders. 

The pale, sad moon looked down on this sea in Avhich 
its rays were extinguished without reflection. The light 
floated in the sky. The immense sheet, all darkness 
and noise, seemed the yawning opening of an abyss. 

The flood rose, rose ; it reddened Gneuss’ lips with its 
foam. 

At dawn, Elberg on arriving awakened Gneuss, who 
was sleeping, his head upon a stone. 


THE soldiers’ DREAMS. 


283 


“ Friend,” said he, “ I got lost among the bushes. As 
I had seated myself at the foot of a tree, sleep surprised 
me and the eyes of my soul saw strange scenes unrolled, 
the remembrance of which waking has been unable to 
dissipate. 

“ The world was in its infancy. The sky seemed an 
immense smile. The earth, virgin yet, bloomed in the 
May sunshine, in its chaste nudity. The green grass was 
taller than our tallest oaks; the trees spread out in the 
air foliage unknown to us. The sap flowed plentifully 
in the veins of the world, and its flood was so abun- 
dant that, not being able to content itself with the 
plants, it streamed into the entrails of the rocks and 
gave them life. 

The horizon stretched away calm and radiant. Holy 
nature had awakened. Like the infant which kneels in 
the morning and thanks God for the light, it poured forth 
towards the sky all its perfumes, all its songs — penetra- 
ting perfumes, ineffable songs, which my senses could 
scarcely bear, so divine was the impression they pro- 
duced. 

The mild and fertile earth brought forth without pain. 
Fruit trees grew ; wild fields of grain bordered the roads 
as fields of nettles do now. One felt in the air that 
human sweat had not yet mingled with the breath of 
heaven. God alone toiled for his children. 

“ Man, like the bird, lived by providential nourish- 
ment. He strolled at will, blessing God, gathering the 
fruits of the trees, drinking the water of the springs, 
sleeping at night beneath the shelter of the foliage. His 
lips had a horror of flesh ; he was ignorant of the taste of 


284 


THE soldiers’ DREAMS. 


blood, be relished only the food prepared for his repasts 
by the dew and the sun. 

“Thus man remained innocent, and his innocence 
crowned him king of the other beings of the creation. 
All was concord. I know not what whiteness the 
world had, what supreme peace soothed it without end. 
The wings of the birds did not flap for flight, the forests 
hid no places of refuge in their copses. All the crea- 
tures of God lived in the sunlight, forming but a single 
people, having but a single law — kindness. 

“ I walked among these beings, amid this nature. I 
felt myself grow stronger and better. My lungs breathed 
long draughts of the air of heaven. I felt, suddenly 
quitting our infected winds for these breezes of a purer 
world, the delicious sensation experienced by a miner 
ascending to the open air. 

“As the angel of dreams still presided over my sleep, 
this is what my soul saw in a forest into which it had 
strayed : 

“Two men were following a narrow path lost beneath 
the foliage. The younger of the twain walked in front ; 
carelessness sang upon his lips; his glance had a ca- 
ress for each tuft of grass. Sometimes, he turned to 
smile on his companion. I know not by what gentleness 
I recognized his smile as that of a brother. 

“The lips and eyes of the other man remained dumb 
and sombre. He glared at the nape of the youth’s neck 
with a look of hatred, hastening liis steps, stumbling behind 
him. ne seemed to be pursuing a victim who did not 
flee. 

“ I saw him cut down a stout sapling, the trunk of 


THE soldiers' DREAMS. 


285 


wliich lie rudely fashioned into a club. Then, fearing 
he might lose his companion, he ran, concealing his 
weapon behind him. The young man, who had seated 
himself to wait for him, arose at his approach and kissed 
him on the forehead, as alter a long absence. 

*‘They resumed their walk. The day was declining. 
The youth hurried along, on perceiving in the distance, 
between the last trees of the forest, the soft lines of a hill, 
yellow with the adieu of the sun. The sombre man 
thought he was fleeing. Then, he raised his club. 

“His young brother turned. A joyous word of en- 
couragement was upon his lips. The club crushed his 
face and the blood gushed forth. 

“ The tuft of grass, which received the first drop of 
it, shook it with horror on the soil. The soil swallowed 
it, quivering, terrified ; a long cry of repugnance escaped 
from its bosom, and the sand of the path vomited forth 
the hideous draught in the shape of bloody moss. 

“At the cry of the victim, I saw the creatures scatter 
on the wings of fright. They fled throughout the 
world, shunning the beaten ways; they posted them- 
selves at the cross-roads, and the stronger attacked the 
weaker. I saw them in solitude polish their fangs and 
sharpen their claws. The grand brigandage of the crea- 
tion had begun. 

“ Then, the eternal flight passed before me. The spar- 
row-hawk swooped down upon the swallow, the swallow 
on the wing seized the gnat, the gnat placed itself upon 
the corpse. From the worm to the lion, every creature 
felt itself menaced. The world, like ^ serpent, bit its tail 
and devoured itself eternally. 


286 


THE soldiers’ DREAMS. 


“ Nature, stricken with horror, had a long convulsion. 
The pure lines of the horizon were broken. The au- 
rora and the setting sun acquired bloody clouds; the 
waters hurled themselves down with perpetual sobs, and 
the trees, twisting their branches, annually cast withered 
leaves upon the ground.” 

As Elberg stopped, Clerian appeared. He seated him- 
self between his two companions and said to them : 

‘‘I know not whether I saw or dreamed what I am 
about to relate, so much of reality had the dream, so like 
a dream appeared the reality. 

“I found myself upon a highway which traversed the 
world. It was bordered by cities, and the nations fol- 
lowed it in their journeys. 

‘‘I saw that the stones with which this highway was 
paved were black. My feet slipped, and I realized that 
they were black with blood. The highway sloped on 
each side ; a brook, flowing in the centre, rolled thick, 
red water. 

“I followed this highway in which the crowd was 
stirring violently. I went from group to group, seeing 
life pass before me. 

“Here, fathers were immolating their daughters, whose 
blood they had promised to some monstrous god. The 
flaxen-haired girls were bending beneath the knife, pale 
at the kiss of death. 

“ There, quivering and proud maidens were stabbing 
themselves to escape a shameful fate, and the tomb 
would serve as a white robe for their purity. 

“Further off, ladyloves were dying beneath kisses. 
This one, weeping because of her abandonment, ^vas 


THE soldiers’ DREAMS. 


287 


expiring upon the strand, her eyes fixed on the waves 
which had borne away her heart; that one, assassinated 
in her lover’s arms, was breathing her last upon his neck 
— both transported in an eternal embrace. 

“Further off still, men, weary of gloom and misery, 
were sending their souls to find in a better world that 
liberty vainly sought for on this earth. 

“Everywhere, the feet of kings had left bloody im- 
prints upon the stones. This one had walked in his 
brother’s blood ; that one in the blood of his people ; that 
other in the blood of his god. Their red foot-marks in 
the dust made the crowd say: *A king has passed 
there.’ 

“ Priests were slaughtering victims ; then, stupidly 
bent over their palpitating entrails, they claimed to read 
in them the secrets of heaven. They wore swords 
beneath their robes and preached war in the name of 
their god. The nations, on hearing their voices, falling 
one upon another, devoured themselves for the glorifica- 
tion of the common Father. 

“ All men were intoxicated ; they beat the walls, they 
grovelled upon the stones polluted by a hideous mud. 
With closed eyes, holding with both hands double-edged 
blades, they struck in the dark and massacred. 

“ A humid breath of carnage passed over the crowd, 
which lost itself in the distance in a reddish mist. It 
ran, carried away by a rush of fear, it rolled in the orgie 
with clamors more and more furious. It trod underfoot 
those who fell, and made the wounds give up the last 
drop of blood. It panted with rage, cursing the corpse 
when it could no longer tear fi*om it a groan. 


288 


THE SOLDIEliS’ DREAMS. 


“ The soil drank, drank greedily ; its entrails no longer 
manifested repugnance for the biting liquor. Like a 
being debased by drunkenness, it gorged itself with lees. 

‘‘I increased my pace, being in haste to lose sight of 
my brethren. The black highway still extended before 
me as vast as ever at each new horizon ; the brook 
which I followed seemed bearing the bloody flood to 
some unknown sea, 

“ And, as I advanced, I saw nature grow sombre and 
severe. The bosoms of the plains tore themselves 
deeply. Blocks of stone divided the soil into sterile 
hills and dark valleys. The hills mounted, the valleys 
hollowed themselves out more and more ; stones became 
mountains, furrows were changed into abysses. 

‘‘Not a leaf, not a tuft of moss ; desolate rocks, their 
tops whitened by the sun, their bases shadowy and 
swallowed up by the gloom. The highway passed amid 
these rocks, where deathlike silence reigned. 

“At length, it made a sudden turn, and I found myself 
upon a funereal site. 

“Four mountains, leaning heavily one on the other, 
formed an immense basin. Their hard, smooth sides, 
which rose up like the walls of a cyclo[)ean city, made 
of the enclosed space a gigantic pit the largeness of which 
filled the horizon. 

“And this pit, into which the brook fell, was full of 
blood. The thick and tranquil flood mounted slowly 
from the abyss. It seemed slumbering upon its bed of 
rocks. The sky reflected it in clouds of purple. 

“Then, I comprehended that there flowed all the 
blood shed by violence. Since the first murder, each 


THE soldiers' DREAMS. 


289 


wound had wept its tears in this gulf, and the tears had 
coursed there so abundantly that the gulf was filled.” 

saw, last night,” said Gneuss, “a torrent going to 
cast itself into that accursed lake.” 

“ Stricken with horror,” resumed Clerian, “ I approached 
the brink, sounding with a glance the depth of the flood. 
I realized from the hollow noise of the tide that it 
extended to the centre of the earth. Then, my eyes 
being turned towards the surrounding rocks, I saw that 
the flood was gaining their tops. The voice of the 
abyss cried out to me: ‘The tide, which is rising, will 
rise constantly and attain the summits. It will rise 
further, and, then, a river, escaping from the terrible 
basin, will hurl itself into the plains. The mountains, 
weary of straggling with the billows, will sink. The 
entire lake will fall upon the world and inundate it. 
Thus the men who shall be born will die, drowned in 
the blood shed by their fathers ! ’ ” 

“ The day is near,” said Gneuss : “ the waves were 
high, last night.” 

The sun had risen when Clerian finished the recital 
of his dream. A trumpet blast borne by the morning 
wind was heard towards the north. It was tlie signal 
to reassemble around the standard the soldiers scattered 
in the plain. 

Tiie three companions arose and gathered up their 
weapons. They were departing, casting a last look at 
the extinguished fire, when they saw Flem running 
towards them through the high grass. His feet were 
white witl) dust. 

“Friends,” said he, “I know not from whence I come, 

18 


290 


THE soldiers’ DREAMS. 


SO rapid has been my joarney. During long hours, I 
saw the dishevelled round of trees flee behind me. The 
sound of my footsteps, which soothed me, caused me to 
close my eyelids, and, still running, without relaxing 
my speed, I slept a strange sleep. 

“ I found myself upon a desolate hill. The glowing 
sun struck the huge rocks. I could not put down my 
feet without burning their flesh. I hastened on. 

“And, as I bounded along, I saw a man ascending, 
who walked slowly. He was crowned with thorns ; a 
heavy burden weighed upon his shoulders; a bloody 
sweat inundated his face. He walked toilsomely, stag- 
gering at every step. 

“ The soil burned, I could not bear its torture ; I 
ascended to wait for him beneath a tree, at the top of 
the hill. Then, T perceived that he bore a cross. From 
his crown, from his purple robe stained with mud, I 
believed him a king and was greatly rejoiced at his 
suffering. 

“Soldiers followed him, quickening his pace with the 
points of their lances. Arrived upon the most elevated 
rock, they stripped him of his garments, they laid him 
on the sinister cross. 

“The man smiled sadly. He stretched out his hands 
wide open to the executioners ; the nails made two bloody 
holes in them. Then, drawing his feet together, he 
crossed them, and a single nail sufficed. 

“Lying upon his back, he silently contemplated the 
sky. Two tears ran slowly down his cheeks, tears 
which he did not feel and which lost themselves in the 
resigned smile of his lips. 


THE soldiers’ DREAMS. 


291 


“ The cross was erected ; the weight of the body hor- 
ribly enlarged the wounds, and I heard the bones 
break. The crucified gave a long shiver. Then, he 
resumed his contemplation of the sky. 

“ I gazed at him. Seeing his grandeur at the hour of 
death, I said to myself : ‘ This man is not a king.’ 
Then, I was filled with pity, I cried to the soldiers to 
strike him to the heart. 

“ A tom-tit sang upon the cross. Its song was sad and 
sounded in my ears like the voice of a weeping maiden. 

“ ‘ Blood colors the flame,’ sang the bird, ‘ blood pur- 
ples the flower, blood reddens the cloud. I alighted on 
the sand — my claws were bloody; I grazed the branches 
of an oak — my wings were red. 

“‘I met a good man and followed him. I bathed 
myself in a spring, and my plumage was pure. My 
song said: Eejoice, my feathers: on the shoulder of this 
man, you will no longer be soiled by the rain of murder. 

“‘My song says to-day: Weep, bird of Golgotha, 
weep for your plumage stained by the blood of him who 
kept for you the asylum of his bosom. He came to 
restore purity to the birds, but, alas ! men force him to 
moisten me with the dew of his wounds. 

“ ‘ I doubt, and I weep for my stained plumage. Where 
shall I find another who will open for me his linen gar- 
ment ? Ah ! my poor master, who will wash my feath- 
ers which Thou hast reddened with Thy blood ? ’ 

“ The crucified listened to the songster. The wind of 
death made his eyelids tremble ; agony twisted his lips. 
He lifted towards the bird his glance, full of gentle 
reproach ; his smile sparkled, as serene as hope. 


292 


THE soldiers’ DREAMS. 


“ Then he uttered a loud cry. His head fell upon his 
breast, and the tom -tit fled, borne away in a groan. The 
sky grew black, the earth shook in the gloom. 

“I was yet running and yet slept. The dawn had 
come; the valley had awakened, smiling amid the 
morning mists. The storm of the past night had 
given more serenity to the sky, more vigor to the 
green leaves. But the path was bordered by the same 
thorns which had torn me on the preceding day ; the 
same hard, sharp stones rolled beneath my feet; the 
same serpents crawled among the bushes and menaced 
me as I passed. The blood of the good man had 
flowed into the veins of the old world, without restoring 
to it the innocence of its youth. 

“ The tom-tit passed above my head and cried to me : 
“ ‘ I am very sad. I cannot find a spring pure enough 
to bathe myself in. Look ; the earth is as wicked as it 
was yesterday. The Lord is dead and the grass has not 
flourished. Alas ! it was but another murder ! ’ 

“ Friends,” said Gneuss, “ ours is a vile calling. Our 
sleep is troubled by the phantoms of those we slay. 
Like you, I have felt the demon of nightmare weigh 
upon my breast. For thirty years I have been killing ; 
I have need of rest. Let us leave our brothers here. 
I know a valley in which the ploughs lack arms. Is it 
your wish that we shall taste the bread of toil ? ” 

‘‘ It is our wish 5” answered his companions. 

Then, the soldiers dug a great hole at the base of a 
rock and buried their weapons. They went down to 
bathe themselves in the river; then, locking arms all 
four, they vanished at a turn of the road. 


THE FAST. 

BY £MILE ZOLA. 


W HEN the vicar ascended the pulpit, with his 
ample surplice of angelic whiteness, the little 
baronne was devoutly seated in her accustomed place, 
near the heater register, before the Chapelle des Saints- 
Anges. 

After the usual period of thoughtful silence devoted 
to the contemplation of heavenly things, the vicar dain- 
tily passed a fine cambric handkerchief across his lips ; 
then, he opened his arms, like a seraph about to fly 
away, bowed his head and spoke. His voice was at 
first, in the vast nave, as a distant murmur of flowing 
water, as a languishing lament of the wind amid the 
foliage. And, little by little, the murmur swelled, the 
breeze became a hurricane, the voice rolled beneath the 
vaulted roof with majestic thunder peals. But always, 
at certain instants, even in the midst of its most formi- 
dable thunder peals, the vicar’s voice was suddenly soft- 
ened, casting a bright ray of sunlight into the heart of 
the sombre tempest of its eloquence. 

The little baronne, at the first whispers among the 
leaves, had assumed the eager and charmed attitude of 
a person with a delicate ear who prepares to enjoy all 
the subtleties of a beloved symphony. She seemed 

( 293 ) 


294 


THE FASO; 


entranced by the exquisite sweetness of the introductory 
musical phrases ; she afterwards ibllowed, with the at- 
tention of a connoisseur, the swelling of the voice, the 
growth of the final tempest, bo artistically managed ; 
and when the voice had acquired its full development, 
when it thundered, augmented by the echoes of the 
nave, the little baronne could not restrain a discreet 
bravo, a wag of the head indicative of satisfaction. 

From that point it was celestial enjoyment. All the 
devotees yielded to the spell. 

Meanwhile, the vicar had said something; his music 
had accompanied words. He had preached about fast- 
ing ; he had said how agreeable to God was the mortifi- 
cation of the flesh. Leaning on the edge of the desk, 
like a huge white bird, he sighed: 

“ The hour has come, my brethren and sisters, when 
all of us must, following Christ’s example, bear our 
crosses, crown ourselves with thorns and ascend our 
Calvary, dragging our bare feet over the stones and 
through the brambles.” 

The little baronne, without doubt, thought this phrase 
beautifully rounded, for she gently winked her eyes as 
if tickled around the heart. Then, the vicar’s symphony 
soothed her, and, while continuing to follow the melodi- 
ous phrases, she allowed herself to sink into a partial 
reverie, full of peculiar delight. 

Opposite to her, she saw one of the long windows of 
the choir gallery, gray with mist. The rain must yet 
be falling. The dear lady had come to hear the sermon 
amid atrocious weather. One should suffer a little 
when one is religious. Her coachman had been fright- 


THE FAST. 


296 


fully drenched, and she herself, in springing to the pave- 
ment, had slightly wet the toes of her delicate boots. 
Her coupe, however, was excellent — tightly closed and 
cushioned like an alcove. But it was so disheartening 
to see, through the damp panes of glass, a file of hurried 
umbrellas rushing along each sidewalk I And she 
thought that, if it had been clear, she could have come 
in her victoria. That would have been a great deal 
gayer. 

In her secret soul, she was terribly troubled lest the 
vicar might bring his discourse to too speedy a conclu- 
sion. In that case, she would be compelled to wait for 
her carriage, for, certainly, she could never think of 
wading home through such a storm. And she calcu- 
lated that, at the rate he was going, the vicar would 
never in the world have sufficient voice to hold out two 
hours ; her coachman, then, would arrive too late. This 
anxiety somewhat disturbed her devotional joy. 

The vicar, with a sudden fit of anger, which straight- 
ened him up, his locks fluttering, his fists thrust forward, 
like a man in the grasp of the Spirit of Vengeance, 
thundered : 

‘‘ Woe be to you especially, sister sinners, if you do not 
pour upon the feet of Christ the perfume of your remorse, 
the odorous oil of your repentance ! Believe me, trem- 
ble and fall on your knees upon the stones I It is by 
shutting yourselves up in the purgatory of penance, 
opened by the Church during these days of universal 
contrition ; it is by wearing away the marble slabs of 
the temple floor with your foreheads pallid through fast- 
ing, by descending into the anguish of hunger and cold, 


296 


THE FAST. 


of silence and darkness, that you will merit the divine 
pardon on the lightning-clothed day of triumph I ” 

The little baronne, drawn from her preoccupation by 
this terrible outburst, slowly wagged her head, as if she 
fully shared the opinion of the angry priest. One 
should take a bundle of rods, go into a very dark, very 
damp and very icy corner, and there castigate one’s 
flesh ; she had no doubt whatever about that. 

Then, she fell back into her reverie; she lost herself 
in the depths of profound comfort, of delicious ecstasy. 
She was seated at her ease on a low chair with a broad 
back, and beneath her feet was an embroidered cushion, 
which prevented her from feeling the cold of the mar- 
ble slabs. Half-reclining, she enjoyed the church, that 
vast interior through which floated the vapor of incense, 
the depths of which, filled with mysterious shadows, 
overflowed with adorable visions. The nave, with its 
red velvet hangings, its ornaments of gold and marble, 
its air of an immense boudoir full of intoxicating odors, 
illuminated as with the soft light of a night-lamp, close 
and seemingly prepared for superhuman love, had, little 
by little, enveloped her with the charm of its pomp. It 
was the fete of her senses. Her pretty, plump form 
surrendered at discretion, fascinated, soothed and ca- 
ressed. She was engulfed in a vast sea of beatitude. 

But that which gave her the most delicious sensations 
was the warm breath of the heater register open almost 
beneath her skirts. The little baronne was very chilly. 
Tlie register discreetly breathed its ardent caresses 
along her silk stockings. Drowsiness seized upon her 
in this bath of luxurious softness. 


THE FAST. 


297 


The vicar was still full of auger. He plunged all tlie 
devotees present into the boiling oil of the infernal 
regions. 

“ If you do not listen to the voice of God,” he thun- 
dered, “ if you do not listen to iny voice, which is the 
representative of God’s, verily, I say unto you, one day 
you will hear your bones crack with anguish, you will 
feel your flesh break asunder on the glowing coals, and 
tlien in vain you will cry : ‘ Pity, Lord, pity, I repent ! ’ 

God will be without mercy, and with his foot will hurl 
you back into the abyss ! ” 

At this explosion, there was a shiver among the con- 
gregation. The little baronne, who had been almost 
put to sleep by the warm air circulating beneath her 
skirts, smiled vaguely. She knew the vicar well. The 
previous day, he had dined at her hotel. He adored 
pate de saumon truffe and Pomard was his favorite wine. 
He was, indeed, a handsome man, from thirty-five to 
forty, dark, and with a visage so round and so rosy that 
one would have readily taken it for the merry visage of 
a female farm servant. With this, he was a man of 
society, a good eater, a fluent conversationalist. The 
women adored him and the little baronne was passion- 
ately fond of him — he said to her, in a voice so deli- 
ciously sweet: “Ah ! madame, with such a toilet, you 
would damn a saint I ” 

But he was not damned, the dear man. He hastened 
away to rattle ofl‘ to the countess, the marquise and his 
other penitents the same gallant phrase, which made 
him the spoiled darling of those ladies. 

When he went to dine at the little baronne’s hotel, 


298 


THE FAST. 


on Thursday, she cared for him as if he were a delicate 
creature whom the slightest current of air would afflict 
with a cold, and to whom a tough piece of meat would 
infallibly give an attack of dyspepsia. In her salon, 
his arm-chair was beside the fire-place ; at table, the 
domestics had standing orders to keep a special watch 
over his plate, and to pour out for him alone a certain 
Pomard, twelve years old, which he drank with his eyes 
fervently closed, as if he had taken communion. 

The vicar was so kind, so kind! While, from the 
elevated pulpit, he spoke of cracking bones and burning 
limbs, the little baronne, half-asleep as she was, saw him 
at her table, devoutly wiping his lips and saying to her : 
‘‘Ah! madame, this soup would make you find favor in 
Heaven, if your beauty were not already sufficient to 
make you certain of Paradise ! ’’ 

When the vicar had exhausted his anger and his 
threats, he began to sob. Such was his habitual method 
of procedure. Almost on his knees in the pulpit, show- 
ing only his shoulders, then suddenly rising, bending as 
if stricken with grief, he wiped his eyes with a loud 
rustling of starched muslin, he threw his arms into the 
air, to the right and to the left, assuming the attitudes of 
a wounded pelican. This was the bouquet, the finale, the 
morceau for the grand orchestra, the varied scene of the 
denouement. 

“Weep, weep,” wailed he, with expiring breath; 
“ weep for yourselves, weep for me, weep for God ! ” 

The little baronne was now altogether asleep, with 
her eyes open. The heat, the incense and the growing 
shadows had, as it were, stupefied her. She had humped 


THE FAST. 


299 


herself together, she had shut herself up in the delightful 
sensations she was experiencing, and, in secret, was 
dreaming of very agreeable things. 

Before her, in the Chapelle des Saints- Anges was a 
huge fresco, representing a group of handsome young 
men, half-clad, with wings on their backs. They smiled 
like chilly lovers, while, from their bent, kneeling atti- 
tudes, they seemed to be adoring some invisible little 
baronne. What fine fellows they were, with their deli- 
cate lips, their satin skin and their muscular arms. The 
worst of it was that one of them strongly resembled the 

young Duo de P , one of the little baronne’s most 

intimate friends. In her sleep, she asked herself if it 
could possibly be the due, half-clad, with wings on his 
back ! And, at times, she imagined that the tall pink 
cherub had on the due’s black coat. Then, the dream 
assumed a positive character : it was actually the due, 
very sparingly clothed, who, from the depths of the 
gloom was sending her kisses. 

When the little baronne awoke, she heard the vicar 
utter the sacramental phrase : 

“ And it is the grace that I wish you.’’ 

She sat for an instant in astonishment ; she thought 
that the vicar was wishing her the young due’s kisses. 

There was a loud rattling of chairs. Everybody 
departed ; the little baronne had guessed correctly — her 
coachman was not yet at the foot of the steps. That 
fiend of a vicar had hurried up his sermon, stealing 
from his fair penitents at least twenty minutes of elo- 
quence. 

And, as the little baronne was walking about impa- 


soo 


THE FAST. 


I 


tiently in a side aisle, she encountered the vicar wlio 
had precipitately quitted the sacristy. He looked at his 
watch, he had the hurried air of a man who does not 
wish to miss an appointment. 

“ Ah ! how late I am, my dear madame ! ” said he. 
am expected at the countess’, you know. There is to 
be a delightful concert, followed by a little collation! ” 


THE 

MARQUISE’S SHOULDERS 

BY BMILE ZOLA. 


T he Marquise was asleep in her huge bed, beneath 
broad curtains of yellow satin. At noon, as the 
clear tones of the clock were heard, she decided to open 
her eyes. 

The chamber was lukewarm. The carpet and the 
hangings of the doors and windows made it a soft nest 
into which the cold could not come. Warmth and per- 
fumes loaded the atmosphere, and perpetual spring 
reigned there. 

As soon as she was fully awake, the marquise seemed 
to be seized upon by a sudden anxiety. She threw back 
the bed-clothes and rang for J ulie, 

“ Madame rang ? ” 

“Tell me, is it thawing?” 

Oh! the kind-hearted marquise! With what an anx- 
ious voice she asked this question! Her first thought 
was for the terrible cold, the piercing north wind, which 
she did not feel but which must blow so cruelly in the 
hovels of the poor ! And she asked if Heaven had been 
merciful, if she could be warm without remorse, with- 
out thinking of those who were shivering ! 

( 301 ) 


802 THE marquise’s shoulders. 

“ Is it thawing, Julie? ” 

The waiting-maid offered her the morning wrapper, 
which she had first warmed before a roaring fire. 

“ Oh ! no, Madame, it is not thawing. On the con- 
trary, it is freezing harder than ever. Early this morn- 
ing, a man was found frozen to death in an omnibus.” 

The marquise displayed a childish joy; she clapped 
her hands, exclaiming : 

‘‘Ah! so much the better! I will go skating this 
afternoon ! ” 

Julie drew aside the curtains gently, that a sudden 
brightness might not wound the tender sight of the de- 
licious marquise. 

The bluish reflection of the snow filled the chamber 
with a gay light. The sky was gray, but the tint was 
so pretty that it reminded the marquise of a pearl-gray 
silk dress she had worn, the previous evening, at the 
ball of the ministry. This dress was trimmed with 
white guipure, like those nets of snow which she saw at 
the edges of the roofs, against the paleness of the sky. 

The previous evening, she was charming, with her 
new diamonds. She went to bed at five o’clock in the 
morning. Hence her head was yet a trifle heavy. Nev- 
ertheless, she seated herself before a mirror, and Julie 
raised the flaxen flood of her tresses. The wrapper 
slipped down, and the marquise’s shoulders were bare 
to the middle of her back. 

An entire generation had already grown old while 
gazing at the marquise’s shoulders. Since ladies of a 
joyous nature, thanks to a sovereign power, had been 
enabled to wear low-necked dresses and dance at the 


THE marquise's SHOULDERS. 


303 


Tiiileries, slie had displayed her shoulders amid the 
crowds in the official salons, with an assiduity which 
had made her the living sign of the charms of the Second 
Empire. She had been compelled to follow the fashion, 
to cut down her dresses, now almost to the small of the 
back, now almost to the centre of the bosom, and so it 
chanced that the dear little lady had, little by little, made 
public all the treasures of her corsage. There was not 
a spot as large as the palm of one’s hand of her back and 
her bosom which was not known from the Madeleine to 
Saint-Thomas-d’Aquin. The marquise’s shoulders, fully 
displayed, were the voluptuous coat of arms of the 
reign. 

It certainly is unnecessary to describe the marquise’s 
shoulders. They are as popular as the Pont Neuf. For 
eighteen years they have formed part of the public 
spectacles. One needs to see only the smallest bit of 
them, in a salon, at the theatre or elsewhere, to exclaim : 
“Ah! there’s the marquise! I recognize the black mole 
on her left shoulder! ” 

Besides, those shoulders are very handsome, very 
white, very plump and very enticing. The glances of 
every member of the government have swept over them, 
making them smooth and shiny, like granite pavements 
which eventually become polished through the constant 
scraping of the feet of the crowd. 

If I were the marquise’s husband or admirer, I would 
much rather kiss the glass knob of the door of a minis- 
ter’s office, worn by the hands of favor-seekers, than 
touch with my lips those shoulders over which has 
passed the hot breath of all gallant Paris. When one 


304 THE makquise's shoulders. 

thinks of the thousands of longings which have quivered 
around them, one cannot help asking one’s self of what 
kind of clay Nature moulded them that they have not 
been gnawed and crumbled, like those marble statues 
exposed to the open air in gardens, the symmetry of 
which has been destroyed by the winds. 

The marquise has laid her modesty on the shelf. She 
has made her shoulders an institution. And how she 
has fought for the government of her choice ! Always 
in the breach, everywhere at the same time, at the Tuil- 
eries, at the houses of the ministers, at the foreign lega- 
tions and at the hotels of ordinary millionaires, winning 
over the undecided with her smiles, propping the throne 
with her alabaster bosom, showing on days of danger 
delicious little corners, ordinarily hidden, more persua- 
sive than the arguments of orators, more effective than 
the swords of soldiers, and threatening, in order to carry 
off* a vote, to cut down the necks of her dresses until the 
most ferocious members of the opposition should declare 
themselves convinced ! — such was ever her mode of war- 
fare! 

The marquise’s shoulders have remained intact, and 
have always been victorious. They have borne the 
weight of a world, yet never has a wrinkle ruffled their 
white marble surface! 

That afternoon, on coming from the hands of Julie, 
the marquise, clad in a delicious Polish toilet, went to 
skate. She skates adorably. 

At the Bois, it was as cold as the Arctic regions; a 
sh^rp wind stung the noses and the lips of tlie ladies, as 
if fine sand had been blown in their faces. The mar- 


THE marquise’s SHOULDERS. 


805 


quise laughed; it amused her to be cold. She went, 
from time to time, to warm her feet at the fires kindled 
on the edges of the little lake. Then, she. returned to 
the icy air, speeding away over the frozen surface like a 
swallow grazing the ground. 

Ah! what exquisite enjoyment, and how fortunate it 
was that the thaw had not yet begun 1 The marquise 
would be able to skate the whole week ! 

As she was on her way home, the marquise saw, in a 
side path of the Champs-filys^es, a poor woman shiver- 
ing at the foot of a tree, half-dead with cold. 

“ What a fright 1 ” she murmured, in an irritated tone. 

And, as her carriage was being driven very rapidly 
along, the marquise, unable to find her purse, threw her 
bouquet to the poor woman, a bouquet of white lilacs, 
worth fully five louis ! 

19 


MY NEIGHBOR JACQUES. 


BY £MILE ZOLA. 



T that time I inhabited, in the Rue Gracieuse, the 


garret of my twentieth year. The Eue Gra- 
cieuse is a steep lane, which descends the Butte Saint- 
Victor, behind the Jardin des Plantes. 

I climbed up three stories — the houses are low in that 
vicinity, — aiding myself with a rope in order not to slip 
upon the worn steps, and thus I reached my den in the 
most complete obscurity. The room, big and cold, had 
the bareness, the wan light of a cellar. I have, however, 
had bright sunshine. in that gloom, on the days when 
my heart rejoiced. 

Then, there came to me childish laughter from the 
adjoining garret, which was peopled by an entire family, 
the father, the mother and a girl between seven and 
eight years old. 

The father had an angular air, his head planted side- 
wise between two pointed shoulders. His bony visage 
was yellow, with big black eyes plunged beneath thick 
eyebrows. This man, amid his lugubrious looks, pre- 
served a kindly, timid smile; he was like a great baby 
of fifty, embarrassed, blushing like a girl. He sought 
the darkness, gliding along the walls with the humility 
of a pardoned galley-slave. 


( 306 ) 


MY NEIGHBOK JACQUES. 


807 


A few salutations exchanged between us had mad^ 
me his friend. I was pleased with that strange face, 
full of an uneasy good-nature. Little by little, w'e had 
got to shaking hands. 

At the expiration of six months, I was still ignorant 
of the trade by which my neighbor Jacques and his 
family subsisted. He spoke but little. I had, indeed, 
out of pure interest, questioned his wife two or three 
times, but had succeeded only in drawing from her 
evasive replies, stammered forth with embarrassment. 

One day — it had rained the previous evening, and my 
heart was sad, — as I was going down the Boulevard 
d’Enfer, I saw coming towards me one of those pariahs 
of the working people of Paris, a man clad in black, 
with a hat of the same color and a white cravat, hold- 
ing under his arm the small coffin of a new-born baby. 

He was walking with his head down, bearing his 
light burden with a dreamy heedlessness, pushing Avith 
his foot the pebbles from the sidewalk. The morning 
was clear. I felt pleased at that sadness which was 
passing. At the sound of my footsteps, the man raised 
his head, then turned it away quickly, but too late : I 
had recognized him. My neighbor Jacques was an 
undertaker. 

I watched him going away, ashamed of his shame. 

I regretted not having taken the other alley. He was 
going away, with his head lower still, doubtless saying 
to himself that he had lost the shake of the hand which 
we exchanged every evening. 

The next aay, I met him on the stairs. He drew 
himself timidly against the wall, shrinking, pulling in 


808 


MY NEIGHBOR JACQUES. 


witli humility the folds of his blouse, that the cloth 
might not touch my garments. He stood there with 
bowed forehead, and I saw his poor gray head trembling 
with emotion. 

I halted, looking him in the face. I offered him my 
wide-open hand. 

He raised his head, hesitated, looked me in the face 
in his turn. I saw his big eyes blink and his yellow 
visage grow red. Then, suddenly taking my arm, he 
accompanied me to my garret, where, at last, he re- 
covered his speech. 

“ You are a brave young man,” said he to me ; “ the 
grasp of your hand has made me forget many evil 
glances.” 

And he sat down, making his confession to me. He 
admitted to me that, before being in the business, he had 
felt uneasy, like the rest, whenever he had met an 
undertaker. But, since that time, during his long hours 
ot‘ walking, amid the silence of funerals, he had thought 
over these things, he had been astonished at the disgust 
and fear which he aroused as he passed by. 

I was twenty years old then, I would have embraced 
an executioner. I plunged into philosophical considera- 
tions, striving to prove to my neighbor Jacques that his 
calling was holy. But he shrugged his pointed should- 
ers, rubbed his hands in silence, then resumed in his 
slow and embarrassed voice: 

“You see, monsieur, the gossip of the quarter and the 
unfriendly looks of the passers-by disturb me little, 
provided that my wife and daughter have bread. Only 
one thing troubles me. I cannot sleep at night when I 


MY NEIGHBOR JACQUES. 


809 


think about it. We are, my wife and I, old folks who 
no longer feel the shame of the thing. But young girls 
are ambitious. My poor Marthe will blush for me later 
on. When she was five years of age, she saw one 
of my colleagues, and she wept so much, she was so 
afraid, that I have not yet dared to put on the black 
cloak before her. I dress and undress myself on the 
stairs.” 

T felt pity for my neighbor Jacques; I offered to 
allow him to keep his garments in my chamber and 
come there to put them on at his ease, sheltered from 
the cold. He took a thousand precautions in transport- 
ing his sinister wardrobe to my abode. From that day, 
I saw him regularly, morning and evening. He made 
his toilet in a comer of my mansarde. 

I had an old chest, the wood of which was crumb- 
ling, bored by worms. My neighbor Jacques made it 
his clothes-press ; he put newspapers on the bottom of it, 
upon which he delicately folded his black garments. 

At times, during the night, when a nightmare had 
awakened me with a start, I cast a frightened glance at 
the old chest, which stretched out against the wall like 
a coffin. It seemed to me then that I saw the hat, the 
black cloak and the white cravat come out of it. 

Tiie hat rolled around my bed, snorting and leaping 
with little nervous jumps ; the cloak spread out, and, 
shaking its parts like great black wings, flew about the 
large and silent chamber; the white cravat stretched 
out, then began to crawl softly towards me, its head 
raised, its tail wagging. 


810 


MY NEIGHBOR JACQUES. 


Then, I would open my eyes very widely and would 
see the old chest motionless and sombre in its corner. 

I was living in a dream at that period, a dream of 
love and sadness also. I took pleasure in my night- 
mare ; I loved my neighbor Jacques because he lived 
with the dead and brought me the biting odors of cem- 
eteries. He had made confidential revelations to me. I 
was writing the opening pages of “ The Memoirs of an 
Undertaker.” 

In the evening, my neighbor Jacques, before disrob- 
ing himself, sat down on the old chest to give me an ac- 
count of what he had done that day. He loved to talk 
about his dead. Now, it was a young girl, — the poor 
child, dead of consumption, was not heavy ; then, it was 
an old man — that old man, whose coffin had strained his 
arms, was a big official, who must have carried his gold 
away with him in his pockets. And I had private de- 
tails about each corpse ; I knew their weight, the sounds 
that had been heard in their coffins, the way in which it 
had been necessary to take them down- stairs, at the turns 
of the staircases. 

It happened, on certain evenings, that my neigh- 
bor Jacques came home more loquacious and more 
expansive than usual. Then, he would lean against 
the walls, his cloak hooked over his shoulder, his hat. 
thrown back. He had met generous heirs, who had 
treated him to “ the drink and cheese of consolation.” 
And he would finish up by growing tender; he would 
swear to me that he would bury me, when the time 
should come, with friendly gentleness. 


MY NEIGHBOR JACQUES. 


311 


I lived tlius for more than a year in an atmosphere 
of death. 

One morning my neighbor Jacques did not make his 
appearance. Eight days afterwards, he was dead. 

When two of his colleagues took away the body, I 
was at my door. I heard them joke as they went down- 
stairs with the coffin, which gave forth a hollow sound 
like a complaint at each knock it received. 

One of them, a short, fat fellow, said to the other, a 
long, slim fellow : 

“ He is going to join his customers I ” 


BIG MICHU. 

BY £MILE ZOLA. 


O NE afternoon, at four o’clock recess, Big Michu 
took me aside, into a corner of the court-yard. 
He had a grave air which filled me with a certain fear, 
for Big Michu was a fellow with enormous fists, wliom I 
would not have had for my enemy for anything in the 
world. 

“ Listen,” said he to me, in his thick voice of a but 
partially polished peasant, “ listen : will you go into it ? ” 
I answered, unhesitatingly ; “Yes!” flattered by the 
proposition to go into something with Big Michu. 
Then he explained to me that a conspiracy was on foot. 
The confidential revelations he made to me gave me a 
delicious sensation, the like of which I have, perhaps, 
never experienced since. At last I had entered into the 
wild adventures of life, I would have a secret to keep, a 
battle to fight. And, in sooth, the unavowed fright I 
felt at the idea of compromising myself in this way con- 
stituted a full half of the biting joys of my new role of 
accomplice. 

Likewise while Big Michu was talking I stood befove 
him lost in admiration. He initiated me in a somewhat 
rough tone, as if I were a conscript in whose energy he 
had but a mediocre confidence. However, the quiver 
( 312 ) 


BIG MICHU. 


./ 813 


of pleasure, tlie air of enthusiastic ecstacy I disp]a 3 ^e(i 
while listening to him ultimately gave him a better 
opinion of mo. 

At the second stroke of the bell, as we took our 
places in the ranks to return to the school-room, he said 
to me, in a low tone : 

“ It is understood, is it not, you are one of us ? You 
will not be afraid, at least you will not betray us ? ” 

“ Oh ! no ; you shall see. I have sworn it.” 

He looked me full in the face with his gray eyes, 
with the genuine dignity of a mature man, and added: 

“ If you betray us, of course, I shall not thrash you ; 
but I will tell everybody you are a traitor, and then 
nobody will speak to j'ou again.” 

I still remember the strange effect this threat pro- 
duced on me. It gave me colossal courage^ “ Bast ! ” 
said I to myself, “ I don’t care if they give me two thou- 
sand verses ; the deuce take me if ever I betray Michu!” 
I awaited the dinner-hour with feverish impatience. 
The revolt was to burst forth in the refectory. 

Big Michu was from Var. His father, a peasant who 
possessed a few patches of land, had taken part in the 
insurrection provoked by the coup d’etat in ’51. Left 
for dead upon the plain of Uchane, he had succeeded in 
hiding himself. When he reappeared nobody disturbed 
him. But the authorities of the district, the notables, 
the people with large and small incomes, called him 
that brigand of a Michu. 

This brigand, this honest, illiterate man, sent his son 

to* the College d’A . Doubtless he wished him to 

be learned for the triumph of the cause which he him- 


314 


BIG MICHIJ. 


self had been able to defend only with weapons m his 
hands. We had a vague acquaintance with this history 
at the college, which made us regard our comrade as a 
very formidable personage. 

Big Michu was, besides, much older than we were. 
He was nearly eighteen, although he was still only in the 
fourth class. But no one dared to twit him with his 
backwardness. He was one of those slow students, who 
learn with difficulty, who guess nothing ; yet, when he 
once knew a thing, he knew it thoroughly and never 
forgot it. As strong as if hewn out with an axe, he 
reigned like a sovereign during recess. With this, he 
w^as extremely gentle. I never saw him angry but 
once, when he wished to strangle a tutor because he 
taught us that all republicans were robbers and assas- 
sins. This came near causing his expulsion. 

It was onl}^ later, when I again saw my former com- 
rade in my recollections, that I was able to comprehend 
his gentle and firm attitude. His father had early made 
a man of him. 

Big Michu liked being at the college, a fact which 
somewhat astonished us. He experienced there but one 
torment of which he was afraid to speak : hunger. Big 
Michu was always hungry. 

I never saw anybody with such an appetite, so far as 
I can remember. Excessively proud as he was, he 
sometimes stooped to the most humiliating farces in 
order to trick us out of a morsel of bread, a breakfast or 
a lunch. Eaised in the open air, at the foot of the chain 
of the Mauves, he suffered still more cruelly than we 
from the poor fare of the college. 


BIG MICHU. 


315 


This poor fare was one of our principal topics of con- 
versation in the court-yard, along the wall which shaded 
us with its strip of shadow. We were dainty. I re- 
member especially a certain preparation of codSsh with 
red sauce and certain beans with white sauce, which had 
become objects of general malediction. The days when 
these dishes appeared we were loud in our complaints. 
Big Michu, from human decency, cried out with us, 
though he would have been delighted to gulp down the 
six portions of his table. 

Big Michu complained only of the small quantity of 
the food. Chance, as if to exasperate him, had placed 
him at the end of the table beside a tutor, a thin young 
man who allowed us to fume at our pleasure. The rule 
was that the tutors had each a right to two portions. 
Hence, when sausages were served it was a sight to see 
Big Michu gaze at the two pieces stretched out side by 
side upon the slim tutor’s plate. 

“ I am twice his size,” said Big Michu to me one day, 
and yet he has twice as much to eat as I have. He 
leaves not a morsel either ; he never has too much ! ” 

Now, the leaders had resolved that we should at least 
revolt against the codfish with red sauce and the beans 
with white sauce. 

Naturally- the conspirators invited Big Michu to be 
their chief. The plan of these rebels was of a heroic 
simplicity. It would suffice, they thought, to martyrize 
their appetites — to refuse all food until the head of the 
college solemnly declared that the bill of fare should be 
ameliorated. The approbation which Big Michu gave 
to tliis plan was one of the most sublime examples of 


316 


BIG MICHU. 


abnegation and courage I know of. He accepted the 
leadership of the movement with the calm heroism of 
those ancient Eomans who sacrificed themselves for the 
public good. 

Think of it being his duty to make the codfish and 
beans disappear when he desired only to have more of 
them, to have as much as he could eat ! And, to cap 
the climax, he was required to fast ! He confessed to 
me afterwards that never was that republican virtue 
taught him by his father — solidarity, the devotion of 
the individual to the interests of the community — put 
to so severe a proof in him. 

That evening, in the refectory — it was the day of the 
codfish with red sauce — the martyrization began with a 
unanimity truly beautiful to behold. Bread alone was 
permitted. The hated dish arrived ; we did not touch 
it, but ate our bread dry, and this gravely, without talk- 
ing in low tones as was our custom. Only the younger 
students laughed. 

Big Michu was superb. He went so far that first 
evening as to abstain even from bread. He put both his 
elbows on the table and looked disdainfully at the thin 
tutor, who was eating away with a will. 

Meanwhile the superintendent had sent for the head 
of the college, who burst into the refectory like a tem- 
pest. He took us roughly to task, asking us what fault 
we could possibly find with the dinner, which he tasted 
and declared exquisite. 

Then Big Michu arose. 

“ Monsieur,” said he, “ the codfish is spoiled ; we can- 
not put up with it.” 


BIG MICHU. 


817 


“ Ahl” cried the thin tutor, without giving the head 
of the college time to reply, “on other evenings you 
have, nevertheless, managed to devour nearly the entire 
dish yourself.” 

Big Michu colored to the roots of his hair* That 
evening they simply sent us to bed, telling us that, by 
the morrow, reflection would put us in a more reason- 
able frame of mind. 

The next day and the next Big Michu was terrible. 
The words of the thin tutor had stricken him to the 
heart. He kept up our courage; he told us we would 
be cowards if we yielded. Now lie had put all his 
pride in showing that, when so disposed, he could do 
without eating. 

He was a real martyr. All the rest of us had hidden 
away in our desks chocolate, pots of preserves and even 
liver puddings, which enabled us not to eat altogether 
dry bread with which we had filled our pockets. But 
he, who had not a single relative in the town, and who, 
besides, refused himself such luxuries, kept strictly to 
the few crusts he was able to find. 

On the third day, the head of the college having 
declared that since the pupils obstinately persisted in 
not touching the dishes provided, he was about to stop 
the distribution of bread, the revolt assumed formidable 
^proportions at breakfast. It was the day of beans with 
3‘iuce. 

:-ig Michu, whose brain must have been disturbed by 
>!?^'ooious hunger, suddenly arose. He seized the plate 
' the n*’ t tutor, who was eating with all his might to 
del'/ ey : fill us with envy, and hurled it into the mid? 


81 ^ 


BIG MICHG, 


die of tlie hall ; then he began to sing the “ Marseillaise” 
in a loud voice. This was like a great gust of wind in 
its effect — it set all of us in motion. The plates, glasses 
and bottles danced a pretty dance. The tutors, striding 
over the wrecks, hastened to abandon the refectory to 
us. The thin tutor in his flight received a dish of beans 
upon the shoulders, the sauce of which spread out on 
him like a broad, white collar. 

Then it was proposed that we should fortify the room. 
Big Michu Avas appointed general. lie caused the tables 
to be brought and heaped up against the doors. I 
remember that we all had taken our knives in our hands. 
The “ Marseillaise was yet being thundered forth. The 
revolt had become a revolution. Happily they left us 
to ourselves for three whole hours. The fact was that 
they had sent for the guard. Those three hours of noise 
sufficed to calm us. 

At the lower end of the refectory were two large win- 
dows, which opened upon the court-yard. The most 
timid, frightened by the long immunity accorded us, 
softly opened one of these windows and vanished. They 
were gradually followed by other pupils. Soon Big 
Michu had only ten insurgents left around him. He 
said to them, in a bitter tone : 

Go join the rest; one culprit will be enough I ” 

Seeing that I hesitated he turned towards me and 
added : 

‘‘ Don’t you understand ? I release you from yovz; 
oath I ” 

When the guard broke open one of the dooi : j 
M ichu was found all alone, tranquilly seated ' ^1 o 3}-:l 


BIG MICHU. 


319 


of tlie table amid tbe broken plates. That very night 
he was sent home to his father. As for us, we gained 
but little from the revolt. They did, indeed, avoid serv- 
ing us with codfish and beans for several weeks. *^/ien 
they reappeared. Only the codfish had white sauce and 
the beans red sauce! 

A long while afterwards I again met Big Michu. He 
had been unable to continue his studies. He was culti- 
vating, in his turn, a few patches of land left him by his 
father, then deceased. 

“ I would have made,” he said to me, a wretched 
lawyer or a wretched physician, as it was very difficult 
to get anything into my head. It is better for me to be 
a peasant. That’s my affair, though. But no matter; 
that was a scurvy trick the pupils played me at the 
college — and just think how I adored the codfish and 
beans, too 1 ” 


A STRANGE PHILOSOPHER. 

BY BMILE ZOLA. 


O NE of my friends, a young chemist, said to me one 
morning: 

“I am acquainted with an aged scientist who has 
retired to a small house on the Boulevard d’Enfer, there 
to study, without interruption, the crystallization of 
diamonds. He has already obtained dazzling results. 
Would you like me to take you to see him ? ” 

I replied in the affirmative, though not without a 
secret terror. A magician would have frightened me 
less, for I stand in but slight dread of the devil, but I 
am afraid of wealth, and I am free to admit that the 
man who one of these days shall discover the philoso- 
pher’s stone will fill me with a respectful fear. 

As we walked along my friend gave me some infor-r 
mation in regard to the manufacture of artificial precious 
stones. Our chemists had been lending it their attention 
for a long time, but the crystals heretofore formed were 
of such small size and the cost of producing them so 
great that the experiments were looked upon simply as 
revelations of the curiosities of science. It was simply 
a question of finding more powerful agents and more 
economical methods, in order to turn out the precious 
stones at a lov/er figure. 

( 320 ) 


A STRANGE PHILOSOPHER. 


821 


Meanwliile we liad readied our destination. My 
friend, before ringing the bell, warned me that the aged 
scientist, who had no love for curious intruders, would 
certainly accord me a most ungracious reception. I was 
the first outsider who had attempted to penetrate into 
his sanctum sanctorum.. 

The scientist opened the door, and I must confess that 
at first I thought he had a stupid air, the air of a cadav- 
erous, low-lived shoemaker. He received my friend 
politely, accepting me with a low growl as' if I had been 
a dog belonging to his young disciple. We crossed a 
neglected garden, at the extremity of which stood the 
house, a dilapidated hovel. The tenant had torn down 
all the partitions that he might have but one vast and 
lofty apartment. There he had established a complete 
laboratory outfit, consisting of strange appliances, the use 
of which I did not even try to comprehend. The only 
articles of luxury, the only pieces of furniture, were a 
bench and a table of black wood. 

In this den I saw the most dazzling, the most blinding 
sight I had ever witnessed in my whole life.. Along the 
walls, upon the floor, were ranged numbers of wretched 
baskets, the willow twigs of which were ready to burst, 
full to overflowing with precious stones. Each basket 
contained but one species of gem; rubies, amethysts, 
emeralds, sapphires, opals and turquoises, thrown into 
corners like shovelfuls of stones on the sides of a high- 
way, shone with living light, illuminating the apartment 
with the sparkle of their flames. They were furnaces, 
glowing coals, red, violet, green, blue and pink. One 
might have imagined that millions of elfin eyes were 
20 


322 


A STRANGE PHILOSOPHER. 


laugliing on the floor, amid the gloom. Never did 
Arabian tale display such treasures, never had woman 
dreamed of such a paradise I 

1 could not suppress a cry of admiration. 

“What wealth!” I exclaimed. “The value of these 
gems is incalculable 1 ” 

The aged scientist shrugged his shoulders. He gazed 
at me with an air of deep pity. 

“ Each of these heaps is worth but a few francs,” said 
he, in his drawling and hollow voice. “ They embarrass 
me. To-morrow I will scatter them over the alleys of 
my garden to serve as gravel.” 

Then, turning towards my friend, he continued, taking 
np handfuls of the gems: 

“Look at these rubies. They are the most beautiful 
I have yet obtained. I am not satisfied with these 
emeralds — they are too pure. Those which nature 
makes always have some fault, and I don’t desire to sur- 
pass nature. What discourages me is that I am still 
unable to produce the white diamond. I shall recom- 
mence my experiments to-morrow. When I have suc- 
ceeded the crowning work of my life will be achieved, 
and I shall die happy.” 

The scientist had drawn himself up to his full height. 
I no longer thought he had a stupid air. I began to 
tremble in the presence of this wan old man who could 
flood Paris with a miraculous rain. 

“You are afraid of robbers, are you not?” I asked. 
“ I see solid bars of iron across your doors and windows. 
It is well to take precautions.” 

“ Yes, I am afraid sometimes,” he murmured, “ afraid 


A STRANGE PHILOSOPHER. 


823 


lest idiots may murder me before I have produced the 
white diamond. These stones, which really have but 
little value, might tempt my heirs. My heirs terrify 
me ; they are well aware that, by causing my disappear- 
ance, they would bury with me the secrets of my dis- 
coveries, thus preserving the full value which the world 
places on the artificial precious stones you see about 
you.” 

He grew thoughtful and sad. We were seated on 
heaps of diamonds, and I looked at him, my left hand 
plunged into a basket of rubies, my right mechani- 
cally sifting handfuls of emeralds as children sift sand 
between their fingers. 

After silence had reigned for some time, I cried out : 

‘‘You must lead an intolerable life, hating men as you 
do! Have you no pleasure whatever? ” 

He stared at me in surprise. 

“ I toil,” replied he, simply ; “ I am never weary. 
When I feel in an unusually gay mood I put a few of 
these stones in my pocket and station myself at the 
further end of my garden,-behind a loophole which opens 
upon the boulevard. There, from time to time, I cast a 
diamond into the midst of the street.” 

He laughed at the remembrance of this excellent 
practical joke. 

“You cannot imagine the grimaces of the people who 
find the stones. They tremble and glance behind them ; 
then they make their escape, as pale as death. Ah 1 
the poor fools, how much amusement they have afforded 
me! I have passed many joyous hours at that loop- 
hole ! ” 


324 


A STRANGE PHILOSOPHER. 


His dry tone gave me inexpressible uneasiness. Evi 
dently the aged scientist was making game of me. 

“See here, young man,” resumed he. “ I have in this 
hovel sufiS.cient means to buy a whole army of women, 
but I am an old devil. You can readily understand 
that, if I possessed the least ambition, I would have 
been a king somewhere long ago. Bah I I would not 
injure a fly; lam kind-hearted, and that is why I allow 
men to live ! ” 

He could not have told me more politely that, if the 
fancy should take possession of him, he would send me 
to the scaffold. 

Bewildering thoughts ran through my brain, ringing 
in my ears all the bells of madness. The elfin eyes of 
the precious stones stared at me with their piercing 
glances — red, violet, green, blue and pink. I had closed 
my hands without knowing it. I held in my left a 
handful of rubies, in my right a handful of emeralds, 
and, if I must tell the entire truth, an almost irresistible 
desire urged me to slip them into my pockets. But I 
dropped those accursed stones and quitted the strange 
philosopher’s house, seeming to hear the gallop of gen- 
darmes all the way to my residence, 


OUT OF WORK. 

BY Smile eola. 


THE ORIGINAL SKETCH AS WRITTEN BY EMILE ZOLA THAT 
SUGGESTED ‘‘ L’aSSOMMOIR.’^ 


O NE morning when the workmen reached the work- 
shop they found it cold and gloomy, as with the 
sadness of ruin. At the extremity of the huge hall the 
steam engine was dumb, with its thin shafts and motion- 
less wheels ; and it added to the melancholy of the scene, 
that engine, the puffing and tossing of which ordinarily 
animated the entire establishment with the beating of a 
giant’s heart, noisily at work. 

The proprietor emerged from his little office. He said 
to the workmen, with an air of sorrow : 

“ My good fellows, there is nothing for you to do 
to-day. Orders have ceased to come in; from every 
side purchases have been countermanded, and the mer- 
chandise will remain on my hands. The month of 
December, upon which I counted, that month of heavy 
work in other years, threatens to ruin the most solid 
houses. Everything must be suspended.” 

And, as he saw the workmen look at each other, with 
the fear of returning home, the fear of hunger on the 
morrow, he added, in a lower tone : (325) 


826 


OUT OF WORK. 


“1 am not selfisli — I swear it to you! My situa- 
tion is as terrible as yours — more terrible, perhaps. In 
a week I have lost fifty thousand francs. I stop the 
work to-day that I may not increase the depth of the 
gulf, and I have not the first sou towards making my 
payments on the 15th. Ycu see that I speak to you as 
a friend — that I hide nothing from you. To-morrow, 
doubtless, the bailiffs will be here. It is not our fault, 
is it? We have struggled to the last. I would like to 
bridge the chasm for you; but all is over. I am on the 
ground. I have no longer bread to share with any one.” 

Then lie extended his hand to them. The workmen 
grasped it silently. And for several minutes they stood 
there, gazing at their useless tools, with clenched fists. 
Other mornings, from the hour of dawn, the files had 
been wont to scrape, the hammers to mark rhythm, and 
all that seemed already slumbering in the dust of bank- 
ruptcy. Twenty, thirty families would not eat the com- 
ing week. Some women who toiled in the manufactory 
had tears in their eyes. The men strove to appear 
firmer. They assumed courage ; they said that one did 
not die of hunger in Paris. 

Then, when the proprietor quitted them, and they saw 
him depart, bent in a week, crushed, perhaps, by a disaster 
greater than he would admit, they withdrew, one by one, 
suffocating in the hall, their throats oppressed, their 
hearts chilled, as if they were leaving the chamber of a 
dead man. The corpse was work, the huge, mute steam 
engine, the skeleton of which was sinister in the gloom. 

A workman was outside, in the street, upon the pave- 
ment. For a week he had haunted the sidewalks without 


OUT OF WORK. 


327 


being able to find work. He went from door to door, 
offering his arms, offbring his hands, offering himself 
bodily for no matter what toil, the most disagreeable, 
the hardest, the most deadly. Every door was closed 
against him. 

Then the workman offered to labor for half-price, but 
the doors remained closed. If he would work for noth- 
ing, nobody could employ him. Toil was at a stand- 
still, the terrible standstill which sounds the knell of the 
mansardes. The panic had stopped every industry; and 
money, cowardly money, had hidden itself away. 

After the week had passed, the end had, indeed, come. 
The workman had made a desperate attempt, and was 
returning slowly, his hands empty, broken down by 
want. It was raining; that evening Paris was funereal 
in the mud. He walked beneath the heavy shower 
without feeling it, comprehending only that he was hun- 
gry’’, pausing that he might not reach home too quickly, 
lie leaned over a parapet of the Seine; the swollen 
waters rushed by with an incessant noise; jets of white 
foam were torn asunder by a pile of the bridge. He 
leaned further over ; the tremendous flood passed beneath 
him, casting at him a furious summons. Then he said 
to himself that it would be cowardly to commit suicide 
and went away. 

The rain had ceased. The gas shone in the jewelers’ 
windows. If he were to break a pane of glass he could 
snatch enough with one hand to keep him in bread for 
years. The kitchens of the restaurants were lighted up 
and, behind the white muslin curtains, he saw people 
eating. He hastened his steps, hurried towards the fau- 


328 


OUT OF WORK. 


bourg, passing cook sliops, pork venders’ shops, pastry 
shops, all ravenous Paris, which exhibits itself during 
the hours of hunger. 

How his wife and little daughter had wept that morn- 
ing! He had promised to bring them bread in the even- 
ing. He had not dared to return to tell them he had 
lied before nightfall. As he walked along he asked him- 
self how he should enter, what he should say to make 
them patient. Still, they could not remain longer with- 
out something to eat. He would try to do so, but his 
wife and child were too weak. 

And for an instant he thought of begging. But when 
a lady or gentleman passed him his arms grew rigid, his 
throat became stopped up. He stood, planted upon 
the sidewalk, while well-regulated people turned away, 
thinking him intoxicated from the wild, famished look 
of his face. 

The workman’s wife had come down to the door, 
leaving the child asleep up-stairs. The poor woman was 
very thin, and wore a calico dress. She shivered in the 
icy blasts of the street. 

Nothing remained in the house. She had taken every- 
thing to the Mont-de-Pict(5. A week without work suffi- 
ces to empty a hovel. The day before she had sold to a 
junk-dealer the last handful of wool from her mattress. 
The mattress filling had all gone that way ; now, only the 
ticking was left. She had hung that before the window 
to keep out the air, for the child coughed very badly. 

Without mentioning it to her husband, she also had 
sought for work. But the stoppage of industry affected 
the women more severely than the men. In rooms upon 


OUT OF WORK. 


829 


the same floor as hers were unfortunate creatures whom 
she heard sob all night long. She had seen one of these 
wretched women standing like a statue at a street-cor- 
ner; another who had lived in the rooms was dead; a 
third had disappeared. 

She, happily, had a good husband — a husband who 
did not drink. They would have been in comfortable 
circumstances, if the dull seasons had not robbed them 
of everything. She had exhausted her credit everywhere. 
She owed the baker, the grocer, the fruiterer, and was 
afraid even to pass their shops. That afternoon she had 
gone to her sister’s house to borrow twenty sous, but 
she found there also such poverty that she burst into 
tears without saying a word, and for a long while 
her sister and she wept together. Then, as she departed, 
she promised to bring her sister a morsel of bread if her 
husband should return with anything. 

Her husband had not returned. It was raining, and 
the woman took refuge within the doorway. Huge 
drops of water pattered about her feet, and the damp- 
ness penetrated her thin dress. Sometimes, growing 
impatient, she went out, despite the storm, and ran to 
the corner of the street to see if she could not catch a 
glimpse of the man for whom she was waiting, in the 
distance, upon the sidewalk. And when she came back 
she was wet through and through. She passed her 
hands over her hair to dry it. She strove to be patient 
a little longer, shaken by slight feverish quivers. 

The passers-by elbowed her. She contracted herself 
that she might not be in anybody’s way. Men stared 
her in the face. She felt, at times, their warm breath 


8S0 


OUT OF WORK. 


strike lier clieeks. All suspicious Paris, the street with 
its mud, its glaring lights, and its clatter of vehicles 
seemed to wish to seize her and hurl her into the gutter. 
She was hungry and everybody had a right to crush her. 
Opposite there was a baker’s shop, and she thought of 
her child asleep up-stairs. 

Then, when her husband at last appeared, slinking 
like a wretch along the houses, she precipitated herself 
towards him, and looked at him anxiously. 

“ W ell ? ” stammered she. 

He bowed his head without reply. Then she ascended 
the stairs before him, pale as death. 

Up-stairs the child no longer slept. She had awak- 
ened ; she was thinking, her eyes fixed on a candle stump 
slowly burning away upon a corner of the table. It is 
impossible to describe the monstrous and heart-rending 
expression on the face of that girl of seven, with the 
faded and serious features of a woman grown. 

She was seated upon the edge of a chest, which served 
her for a bed. Her bare feet hung down shivering ; her 
hands, like those of a puny doll, had drawn against her 
breast the rags which covered it. She felt a burning 
sensation there; a fire she wished to extinguish. She 
was thinking. 

She had never had any playthings. She could not go 
to school because she had no shoes. She remembered 
that when she was j^ounger her mother had taken her 
out in the sunshine. But that was long ago. They were 
compelled to remove from their home; and, since then, 
it seemed to her, that terrible cold had reigned in their 
house. Besides, she was always hungry. 


OUT OF WORK. 


331 


Was everybody hungry? This was a grave question, 
which she could ask herself, but which she could not 
answer. She had, however, tried to accustom herself to 
hunger, but without success. She thought that she was 
too little, that one must be big to know why people were 
famished. Her mother, doubtless, knew that reason 
which was hidden from children. If she had dared, she 
would have asked her who brought people into the 
world to be hungry. 

Besides, everything in their room was so miserable I 
She looked at the window, against which the mattress 
ticking was beating, the bare walls, the broken furniture, 
all that wretchedness of a garret which lack of work stains 
with its despair. In her ignorance she believed that she 
had dreamed of warm apartments, with beautiful objects 
in them which shone ; she closed her eyes to see all this 
again, and through her emaciated eyelids the glare of 
the candle became a vast golden brightness into which 
she wished to make her way. But the wind roared, 
and such a current of air came in through the window 
that she was seized with a fit of coughing. Her eyes 
filled with tears. 

Formerly, she was afraid vdien i Lb alone; now, it 
made no difference to her. th / had not eaten since 
the previous day, she thought her mother had gone to 
get bread. Then she are: » 1 uerself with the idea of 

eating. She would cut r bread into tiny morsels, 
which she would de voni . 'Vvly, one by one. She Avould 
play with her breed. 

Her mother returned; her father closed the door. 
The child strrud ut their hands greatly surprised. And, 


332 


OUT OF WORK. 


as her parents said nothing, after a moment had elapsed, 
she cried, in a whining tone : 

“ I am hungry I I am hungry ! ” 

Her father had covered his face with his hands in a 
dark corner. He sat there, crushed, his shoulders shaken 
by bitter, silent sobs. Her mother, forcing back her 
tears, put her to bed again upon the chest. She covered 
her with all the old garments in the room, telling her 
to be quiet, to go to sleep. But the child, whose teeth 
were chattering with the cold, and who felt the fire in 
her breast burn with greater intensity, grew very bold. 
She threw her arms around her mother’s neck; then 
she whispered, softly: 

Why are we hungry ? Tell me, mamma ! ” 


THE END. 


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60 


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Retribution, 1 

The Christmas Guest, 1 

Haunted Homestead, 1 50 

Wife’s Victory, 1 50 


Cruel as the Grave, 1 

The Maiden Widow, I 

The Family Doom, I 

The Bride’s Fate, 1 

The Changed Brides, I 

Fallen Pride, I 

The Widow’s Son, 1 

The Bride of Llewellyn, 1 

The Fatal Marriage, v 1 

The Missing Bride; or, Miriam, the Avenger, 

The Phantom Wedding; or, The Fall of the House of Flint, 

Above are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 
Self-Made; or. Out of the Depths. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. South worth. 
Complete in two volumes, cloth, price $1.50 each, or $3.00 a set. 

CAROLINE LEE HENTZ’S EXaUISITE BOOKS. 

Complete in twelve large duodecimo volumes, hound in morocco cloth, gilt hacM^ 
pHce $1.50 each; or $18.00 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 


Allworth Abbey, 

India ; Pearl of Pearl River,. 

Curse of Clifton, 

Discarded Daughter,. 

The Mystery of Dark Hollow,.. 


Ernest Linwood, $1 50 

The Planter’s Northern Bride,.. 1 50 

Courtship and Marriage, 1 50 

Rena; or, the Snow Bird, 1 60 

Marcus Warland, I 50 


Love after Marriage, $1 

Eoline; or Magnolia Vale, 1 

The Lost Daughter, 1 

The Banished Son, 1 

Helen and Arthur, 1 


Linda; or, the Young Pilot of the Belle Creole, 1 

Robert Graham; the Sequel to “ Linda; or Pilot of Belle Creole,”... 1 
Above are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 


50 

50 

,50 

50 

60 

50 

5 $ 


All Books published by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa., 
will be sent to any one, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price. 

( 1 ) 


2 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS’ FAVORITE NOVELS. 

Complete in twenty-three large duodecimo volumes, hound in morocco cloth, gilt bacTc^ 
price ^1.50 each ; oi' $34.50 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

The Soldiers" Orphans, $1 50 


Norston's Rest, $1 50 

Bertha’s Engagement, 1 50 

Bellehood and Bondage, 1 50 

The Old Countess, 1 50 

Lord Hope’s Choice, 1 50 

The Reigning Belle, 1 50 

Palaces and Prisons, 1 50 

Married in Haste, 1 50 

Wives and Widows, 1 50 


Ruby Gray’s Strategy, 1 50 

Doubly False, 1 50 | The Heiress, 1 50 j The Gold Brick,... 

Above are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 


A Noble Woman, 1 50 

Silent Struggles, 1 50 

The Rejected Wife, 1 50 

The Wife’s Secret,.. 1 50 

Mary Derwent, 1 50 

Fashion and Famine, 1 50 

The Curse of Gold, 1 50 

Mabel’s Mistake, 1 50 

The Old Homestead, 1 50 

1 50 


MISS ELIZA A. DUPUY’S WONDERFUL BOOKS. 

Complete in fourteen large duodecimo volumes, hound in morocco cloth, gilt back, price 
$1.50 each; or $21.00 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

50 
50 
50 
50 


A New AVay to AVin a Fortune $1 50 

The Discarded Wife, I 50 

The Clandestine Marriage, 1 50 

The Hidden Sin, 1 50 

The Dethroned Heiress, 1 50 

The Gipsy’s Warning, 1 50 

All For Love, 1 50 


Why Did He Marry Her? $1 

AVho Shall be Victor? 1 

The Mysterious Guest, 1 

Was He Guilty? 1 

The Cancelled Will, 1 50 

The Planter's Daughter, 1 50 

Michael Rudolph, 1 50 


Above are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 

LIST OF THE BEST COOK BOOKS PUBLISHED. 

Every housekeeper should possess at least one of the following Cook Books, as they 
would save the price of it in a week’s cooking. 

Francatelli’s Modem Cook Book for 1888. With the most approved 
methods of French, German, English and Italian Cookery. With 

Sixty-two Illustrations. One vol., 600 pages, morocco cloth, $5 00 

Miss Leslie’s Cook Book, a Complete Manual to Domestic Cookery 

in all its Branches. Paper cover, $1.00, or bound in cloth, 1 50 

The Queen of the Kitchen. The Southern Cook Book. Contain- 
ing 1007 Old Southern Family Receipts for Cooking, Cloth, 1 50 

Mrs. Hale’s New Cook Book, Cloth, 1 50 

Petersons’ New Cook Book, Cloth, 1 50 

Widdifield’s New Cook Book, Cloth, 1 50 

Mrs. Goodfellow’s Cookery as it Should Be, Cloth, 1 50 

The National Cook Book. By a Practical Housewife, Cloth, 1 50 

The Young Wife’s Cook Book, Cloth, 1 50 

Miss Leslie’s New Receipts for Cooking, Cloth, .1 50 

Mrs. Hale’s Receipts for the Million Cloth, 1 50 

The Family Save- All. By author of ‘‘ National Cook Book,” Cloth, 1 50 


All Books published, by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa.| 
will be sent to any one, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price. 


4 T. B. PETEKSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS, 


EMILE ZOLA’S NEW REALISTIC BOOKS. 

L» Terre. (The Soil.) By Emile Zola, of ^^Nana,” ^‘L’Assom- 

moir/' etc. Paper cover, 75 cents ; cloth, $1.25. 

Nana! Sequel to L^Assomtnoir. By Emile Zola, Nana! Price 75 oeati 
in paper cover, or $1.00 in morocco cloth, black and gold. Nana ! 

L’Assommoir; or, Nana’s Mother. By Emile Zola, The Greatest Novel 
ever printed. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.00 in cloth. 

Christine, The Model ; or, Studies of Love and Artist Life in the Studiog 
of Paris. By Enile Zoli, Paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25. 

The Shop Girls of Paris. With their daily Life in Large Dry Goods Stores. 
By Emile Zola, author of Nana.” Paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25. 

Renee; or, In the Whirlpool 1 By Emile Zola. Zola’s New Play of 
Renee ” was dramatieed from this work. Paper, 75 cents ; cloth, $1 .25. 

Nana’s Brother. Son of Gervaise,” of “ L’Assominoir.” By Emile Zola, 
author of Nana.” Paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25. 

The Flower Girls of Marseille.*^. By Emile Zola, author of *‘Nana,” 
L’ Assotnraoir,” etc. Paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25. 

The Joys of Life. By Emile Zola, author of “ Nana,” “ Pot Bouille,” etc. 
Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in morocco cloth, black and gold. 

Pot-Bouille. By Emile Zola, author of ‘‘Nana.” “ Pot-Bouille.” Price 
75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in morocco cloth, black and gold. 

The Flower and Market Girls of Paris. By Emile Zola, Price 75 cents 
in paper cover, or $1.25 in morocco cloth, black and gold. 

Nana’s Daughter. A Continuation of and Sequel to Emile Zola’s Great 
Realistic Novel of Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

The Mysteries of the Court of Louis Napoleon. By Emile Zola, Price 
75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 

The Girl in Scarlet; or, the Loves of Silvere and Miette. By Emile Zola, 
Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. 

Albine; or. The Abbe’s Temptation. A Charming and Pathetic Love 
Story. By Emile Zola, Paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25. 

Heldne, a Love Episode. A Tale of Love and Passion. By Emile Zola, 
Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 

A Mad Love; or The Abb4 and His Court. By Emile Zola, Price 75 
cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 

Her Two Husbands. By Emile Zola, Paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25, 

Claude’s Confession. By Emile Zola, Paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25. 

Magdalen Ferat. By Emile Zola, Paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25. 

Therese Raquin. By Emile Zola, Paper, 75 cents; cloth, $1.00. 

MRS. SOUTHWORTH’S WORKS IN CHEAP FORM. 

Ishmael; or, in the Depths — being “Self-Made; or. Out of the Depths.’' 

Self-Raised; or. From the Depths. Sequel to “Ishmael.” 

The Bride of an Evening; or, The Gipsy’s Prophecy. 

The Missing Bride; or, Miriam, the Avenger. The Bridal Eve. 

The Curse of Clifton; or. The Widowed Bride. The Bride’s Fate. 

The Changed Brides; or, Winning Her Way. The Fatal Marriage. 

Above are cheap editions, in paper c%ver, price 75 cents each, ‘ 

The Red Hill Tragedy. Sybil Brotherton. 

Above are cheap editions, in paper cover, price 50 cents each. 


AH Books published by T. B. Peterson A Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa.t 
will be sent to any one, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS 5 


PETERSONS’ SQUARE 12mo. SERIES. 

Society Rapids. High Life in Washington, Saratoga and Bar Harbor. 
Snatched from the Poor-House. A Yi»ung Girl’s Life History. 

The Major’s Love; or, The Sequel of a Crime. By Ella Brown Price. 
Tfho Cares? A Woman’s Story. Fervent, Passionate and Repentant. 

Above are in paper cover, price 5U cents each, or 75 cents each in cloth. 
Helen’s Babies. B}” John Habberton. With an Illustrated Cover. 
Mrs. Mayburn’s Twins. By John Habberton, author of Helen’s Babies 
Bertha’s Baby. Equal to Helen’s Babies.” With Illustrated Cover. 
The Annals of a Baby. Baby’s First Gifts, etc. By Mrs. Stebbins. 
Bessie’s Six Lovers. A Charming Love Story. By Henry Peterson. 
Father Toni and the Pope; or, A Night at the Vatican. Illustrated. 
Rondah; or. Thirty-three Years in a Star. By Florence C. Dieudonn6. 
Not His Daughter. A Society Novel. By Will Herbert. 

A Bohemian Tragedy. A Novel of New York Life. By Lily Curry. 
Little Heartsease. Equal to Rhoda Broughton’s. By Annie L. Wright, 
Two Kisses. A Bright and Snappy Love Story, By Hawley Smart. 

Her Second Love. A Thrilling, Life-like and Captivating Love Story. 

A Parisian Romance. Octave Feuillet's New Book, just dramatized. 
Fanchon, the Cricket ; or. La Petite Fadette. By George Sand. 

Two Ways to Matrimony; or, Is it Love? or. False Pride. 

The Matchmaker. By Beatrice Reynolds. A Charming Love Story. 

The Story of Elizabeth. By Miss Thackeray, daughter of W. M. Thackeray. 
The Amours of Philippe ; or, Philippe’s Love Affairs, by Octave Feuillet. 
Raney Cottem’s Courtship. By author of “ Major Jones’s Courtship.” 

A Woman’s Mistake; or, Jacques de Tr^vannes. A Perfect Love Story. 
The Days of Madame Pompadour. A Romance of the Reign of Louis XV. 
The Little Countess. By Octave Feuillet, author of “ Count De Camors.” 
The American L’Assomraoir. A parody on Zola’s L’Assoramoir.” 

Hyde Park Sketches. A very humorous and entertaining work. 

Miss Margery’s Roses. A Charming Love Story. By Robert C. Meyers, 
Madeleine. A Charming Love Story. Jules Sandeau’s Prize Novel. 
Carmen. By Prosper Merimce. Book the Opera was dramatized from. 
That Girl of Mine. By the author of “ That Lover of Mine.” 

That Lover of Mine. By the author of That Girl of Mine.” 

Above are in paper cover, price 50 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.00 each, 

PETERSONS’ SQUARE 12mo. SERIES. 

Edmond Dantes. Sequel to Alexander Dumas’ Count of Monte-Cristp.* 
Monte-Cristo’s Daughter. Sequel to and end of “ Edmond Dantes.’^ 

The Wife of Monte-Cristo. Continuation of “ Count of Mqnte-pristp.’' 
The Son of Monte-Cristo. The Sequel to “ The Wife of Monte-pristo.’' 
Camille; or, The Fate of a Coquette. (La Dame Aux Cainelias.) 
Married Above Her. A Society Romance. By a Lady of New York. 
The Man from Texas. A Powerful Western Romance, full of adventure, 
Erring, Yet Noble. A Book of Women and for lyoraen. By I. tl. Reed, 
The Fair Enchantress; or. How She Won Men’s Hearts. By Miss Keller, 
Above are in paper cover, price 75 cents each, or $1.25 each in cloth. 
Kenneth Cameron. A Novel of Southern Society and Plantation Life. 
By Judge L. Q. C. Brovvn, of Louisiana. |*aper cover, 75 cts.; cloth, $1.^^ 


All Books published by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa., 
wUYbe sent to any one, postage paid, on receipt of Retail 


6 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


PETERSONS’ SQUARE 12mo. SERIES. 

Major Jones’s Courtship. 21 Illustrations Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Major Jones’s Georgia Scenes. 12 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Major Jones’s Travels. 8 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Simon Suggs’ Adventures. 10 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1.00. 
Louisiana Swamp Doctor. 6 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
The Initials. *A. Z.’ By Baroness Tautphoeus. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1.25. 
Indiana! A Love Story. By George Sand. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Consuelo. By George Sand. Paper cover. Price 75 cents; cloth, $1.('0. 
Countess of Hudolstadt. Sequel to Consuelo. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Harry Coverdale’s Courtjhip and Marriage. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1.50. 
Those Pretty St. George Girls. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, gilt, $1.00, 
Vidocq! The French Detective. Illustrated. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
The Black Venus. Bi/ Adolphe Belot, Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
La Grande Florine. By Adolphe Belot, Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
The Stranglers of Paris. By Adolphe Belot, Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00, 
Mark Maynard’s Wife. By Frankie F. King. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25, 
The Master of L’Etrange. By Eugene Hall. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
Dora’s Device. By George R. Gather, Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25, 
Snob Papers. A Book Full of Roaring Fun. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
Karan Kringle’s Courtship and Journal. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50. 
The Prairie Flower, and Leni-Leoti. Paper cover, 75 cents, clot^ $1.00. 
Monsieur, Madame, and the Baby. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00, 
L’Evang^liste. By Alphonse Daudet. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25, 
The Duchesse Undine. By H. Penn Diltz. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25, 
The Hidden Record. By E. W. Blaisdell. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
A Russian Princess. By Emmanuel Gonzales. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00^ 
A Woman's Perils ; or. Driven from Home. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25, 
A Fascinating Woman. By Edmond Adam. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25, 
La Faustin. By Edmond de Goncourt. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25, 
Monsieur Le Ministre. By Jules Claretie. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25, 
Winning the Battle ; or, One Girl in 10,000. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25, 
A Child of Israel. By Edouard Cadol. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00[ 
The Exiles. The Russian ‘ Robinson Crusoe.' Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $l.lt0^ 
My Hero. A Love Story. By Mrs. Forrester. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, .$1.00* 
Paul Hart ; or, The Love of His Life. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25, 
Mildred’s Cadet; or. Hearts an<l Bell-Buttons. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00, 
Bellah. A Love Story. By Octave Feuillet. Psiper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00] 
Sahine’s Falsehood. A Love Story. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00, 
Linda ; or. The Young Pihd of the Belle Creole. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1.25, 
7’he Woman in Black. Illustrated Cover. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00, 
Madame Bovary. By Gustave Flaubert. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00, 
The Count de Caraors. By Octave Feuillet, Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25, 
How She Won Him! A Love Story. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25, 
Angele’s Fortune. By Andre Theuriet. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25, 
St. Maur; or, An Earl’s Wooing. Paper cover, price 75 cents, cloth, $1.25, 
The Prince of Bretfny. By Thomas P, May. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.50, 
The Earl of Mayfield. By Thomas P, May, Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00, 
Francatelli's Modern Cook Book for 1888. Enlarged Edition, With the 
most approved methods of French, English, German, and Italian Cook- 
ery. With 62 Illustrations. 600 pages, morocco cloth, price $5.00. 

■ 4 >" ■ 

All Books published byT. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pi.,' 
will be sent to any one^ postage paid, ou rccoipt of Xletaii Priea. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 1 


MRS. F. H. BURNETT’S NOVELLETTES. 

Kathleen. A Love Story. By author of That Lass o’ Lowries ” 

Theo. A Love Story. By author of Kathleen,” Miss Crespigny.” 
Lindsay's Luck. A Love Story. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett. 
Pretty Polly Pemberton. By author of “ Kathleen,” Theo,” etc. 

A Quiet Life. By Mrs. Bur nett, author of “ That Lass o’ Lowries.” 

Miss Crespigny, also Jarl’s Daughter. By Mrs. Burnett, 

Above are in paper coner, price 50 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.00 each, 

HENRY GR:^VILLE’S CHARMING NOVELS. 

Zitka; or, The Trials of Raissa. A Russian Love Story, from which the 
Popular Play of Zitka ” was dramatized. Henry Greoille, 

The Princess Oghlrof. A Love Story. By Henry Qrtville, 

Above are in paper cover, price 75 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.00 each. 
The Princess Roubine. A Russian Love Story. By Henry GrivilU. 
Dosia. A Russian Story. By Henry Greoille, author of “ Markof.” 
Saveli’s Expiation. A Powerful Russian Story. By Henry Gr§ville. 
Tania’s Peril. A Russian Love Story. By Henry Greville. 

Sonia. A Love Story. By Henry Greville, author of “Dosia.” 

Lucie Rodey. A Charming Society Novel. By Henry Greville. 
Bonne-Marie. A Tale of Normandy and Paris. By Henry Greville, 
Xenie’s Inheritance. A Tale of Russian Life. By Henry Greville. 
Dournof. A Russian Story. By Henry Greville, author of “Dosia.” 
Mam’zelle Eugenie. A Rus.sian Love Story. By Henry Greville. 
Gabrielle; or, The House of Maureze. By Henry Greville. 

A Friend; or, “L’Ami.” By Henry Greville, author of “ Dosia.” 

Above are in paper cover, price 50 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.00 each* 
Marrying Off a Daughter. A Love Story. By Henry Greville, 

Sylvie’s Betrothed. A Oharminy Novel. By Henry Greville, 

PhilomSne’s Marriages. A Love Story. By Henry Greville, 

Guy’s Marriage; also Pretty Little Countess Zina. By Henry Griville* 
Above are in paper cover, price 75 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.25 each, 
Markof, the Russian Violinist. Paper cover, 75 cents; cloth, $1.50. 

THE “COUNT OF MONTE-CRISTO SERIES.” 

The Count of Monte-Cristo. Illustrated. Paper cover, $1.00, cloth, $1 .50. 
Edmond Dantes. Sequel to “ Monte-Cristo.” Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1 25. 
Monte-Cristo’s Daughter. Paper cover, 75 cents; cloth, $1.25. 
The Countess of Monte-Cristo. Paper cover, $1.00, morocco cloth, $1.50. 
The Wife of Monte-Cristo, Paper cover, 75 cents, morocco cloth, $1.25. 
The Son of Monte-Cristo. Paper cover, 75 cents, morocco cloth, $1.25. 

BOOKS BY AUTHOR OF “A HEART TWICE WON.” 

A Heart Twice Won; or. Second Love. A Love Story. By Mrs. Eliza* 
beth Van Loon. Morocco cloth, black and gold. Price $1 ,50. 

Under the Willows; or. The Three Countesses. By Mrs. Elizabeth Van 
Loon, author of “A Heart Twice Won.” Cloth, and gold. Price $1.50. 
The Shadow of Hampton Mead. A Charming Story. By Mrs. Elizabeth 
Van Loon, author of “A Heart Twice Won.” Cloth. Price $1.50. 

The Mystery of Allanwold. A Thrilling Novel, By Mrs, Elizabeth Vam 
Loon, author of “A Heart Twice Won.” Cloth, and gold. Price $1.50. 


All Books published by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa., 
will be sent to any one, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price. 


8 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


WILKIE COLLINS’ BEST BOOKS. 

Basil; or, The Crossed Path. $l 50 | The Dead Secret. 12ino $1 50 

Above are each in one large duodecimo volume, bound in cloth. 

The Dead Secret, 8v,o 75 The Queen’s Revenge, 75 

Basil ; or, the Crossed Path, 75 | Miss <-r Mrs? f 0 

Hide and Seek, 75 Mad Monk ton, 50 

After Dark, 75 'Sights a-Foot, 50 

The Stolen Mask, 25 | The Yellow Mask,... 25 | Sister Rose,... 

The above books are each issued in paper cover, in octavo form. 

EMERSON BENNETT’S INDIAN STORIES. 


Oimplete in seven larg*' duodecimo volumes, hound in cloth, gilt hack, price $1.50 
each ; or $10.50 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 


The Border Rover, 

Clara Moreland, 

The Orphan’s Trials, 

Viola; or Adventures in the 


.$l 50 
, 1 50 
. I 50 


Bride of the Wilderness, $1 50 

Ellen Norbury, I 60 

Kate Clarendon, 1 50 


Far South-West, 1 50 


Above are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 


The Heiress of Bellefonte, 75 j The Pioneer’s Daughter, 75 


QEEEN’S WORKS ON GAMBLING. 

Com^dete in four large duodecimo volumes, hound in doth, gilt hack, price $1.50 
each ; or $6.00 a set, each set is put tip in a neat box. 

Gambling Exposed, $1 50 | The Reformed Gambler, $1 50 

The Gambler’s Life, 1 50 j Secret Band of Brothers, 1 50 

Above are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 


DOW’S PATENT SERMONS. 

Complete in four large duodecimo volumes, hound in doth, gilt hack, price $1.25 
each ; or $6.00 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 


Dow’s Patent Sermons, 1st 

Series, cloth, $l 25 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 2d 
Series, cloth, 1 25 


Dow’s Patent 
Serie.s, cloth, 
Dow’s Patent 
Series, cloth. 


Sermons, 3d 

^ 

Sermons, 4th 


.$1 25 


1 25 


Above are each in cloth, or each one i.s in paper cover, at $1.00 each, 

GEORGE SAND’S GREATEST NOVELS. 


Consuelo, 12mo., cloth, $1 50| Jealousy, 12mo., cloth, $1 56 

Countess of Rudolstadt, 1 50| Indiana, 12mo., cloth, 1 50 

Above are each published in 12mo., cloth, gilt side and back. 
Fanchon, the Cricket, paper cover, 50 cents, or fine edition, in cloth, 1 50 
First and True Love. With 1 1 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents ,* cloth, 1 00 

Consuelo. Paper cover, 75 I The Corsair, 50 

Simon, A Love Story, 50 I The Last Aldini, 60 

The Countess of Rudolstadt. The Sequel to Consuelo. Paper cover, 76 

MISS BRADDON’S FASCINATING BOOKS. 

Aurora Floyd, 75 I The Lawyer’s Secret, 26 

Aurora Floyd, cloth 1 00 | For Better, For Worse, 76 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Prioe, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 9 


CHARLES DICKENS’ WORKS. ILLUSTRATED. 

This edition is printed from large igpe, octavo size, each hook being complete 
i7i one large octavo volume, hound in Morocco Cloth, with Gilt Character 
Figures on back, and Medallion on side, pr/ce$1.50 each, or $27.00 a set, 
contained in eighteen volumes, the whole containing near Sijc Hundred 
Illustrations, by Cruiksha)ik, Phiz, Browne, Maclise, and other artists. 
The Pickwick Papers. By Charles Dickens. With 32 Illustrations, .$1.50 


Nicholas Nickleby. By Charles Dickens. With 37 Illustrations,.... 1 50 

David Copperfield. By Charles Dickens. With 8 Illustrations, I 5(i 

Oliver Twist. By Charles Dickens. With 21 Illustrations, 1 50 

Bleak House. By Charles Dickens. With 38 Illustrations, 1 50 

Doinbey and Son. By Charles Dickens. With 38 Illustrations, 1 50 

Sketches by ^^Boz.” By Charles Dickens. With 20 Illustrations,... 1 50 

Little Dorrit. By Charles Dickens. With 38 Illustrations, 1 50 

Our Mutual Friend. By Charles Dickens. With 42 Illustrations ... 1 50 
Great Expectations. By Charles Dickens. With 34 Illustrations,... I 50 
Lamplighter’s Story. By Charles Dickens. With 7 Illustrations,... 1 50 

Barnaby Rudge. By Charles Dickens. With 50 Illustrations, 1 50 

Martin Chuzzlewit. By Charles Dickens. With 8 Illustrations, 1 50 

Old Curiosity Shop. By Charles Dickens. With 101 Illustrations,. I 50 

Christmas Stories. By Charles Dickens. With 12 Illustrations, 1 50 

Dickens’ New Stories. By Charles Dickens. With portrait of author, 1 50 
A Tale of Two Cities. By Charles Dickens. With 64 Illustrations,. I 50 
Charles Dickens’ American Notes and I’ic-Nic Papers, 1 58 


BOOKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The following books are each issued in one large duodecimo volume, 


bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 

The Initials. A Love Story. By Baroness Tautpboeus, $1 50 

Married Beneath Him. By author of Lost Sir Massingberd,” 1 50 

Margaret Maitland. By Mrs. Oliphant, author of “Zaidee,” 1 50 

Family Pride. By author of Pique,” Family Secrets,” etc 1 50 

The Autobiography of Edward Wortley Montagu, 1 50 

The Forsaken Daughter. A Companion to “ Linda,” 1 50 

Love and Liberty. A Revolutionary Story. By Alexander Dumas, 1 50 

The Morrisons. By Mrs. Margaret Hosmer, 1 50 

The Rich Husband. By author of George Goith,” 1 50 

The Lost Beauty. By a Noted L.idy of the Spanish Court, 1 50 

My Hero. By Mrs. Forrester. A Charming Love Story, 150 


The Quaker Soldier. A Revolutionary Romance. By Judge Jones,.... 1 50 
Memoirs of Vidoeq, the French Detective. His Life and Adventures, 1 50 
The Belle of AVashington. With her Portrait. By Mrs. N. P. Lasselle, 1 50 
High Life in Washington. A Lifa Picture. By Mrs. N. P. Lasselle, 1 50 
Courtship and Matrimony. By Robert Morris, AVith a Portrait,... 1 50 

The Jealous Husband. By Annette Marie Maillard, 1 50 

The Conscript; or, the Days of Napoleon 1st. By Alex. Dumas,.... 1 58 
Cousin Harry. By Mrs. Grey, author of “ The Gambler’s AVife,” etc. 1 50 
Above books are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Pricey 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


10 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The follomng hooka are each issued in one large duodecimo volume^ 
bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 

The Count of Monte-Cristo. By Durnas. Illustrated, 50 cts., $1.00,..$1 50 


The Countess of Monte-Cristo. Paper cover, price $1.00; or cloth,.. 1 50 

Camille; or, the Fate of a Coquette. By Alexander Durnas, 1 50 

Love and Money. By J. B. Jones, author of the Rival Belles,”... 1 50 
The Brother’s Secret; or, the Count De Mara. By William Godwin, 1 50 
The Lost Love. By Mrs. Oiiphant, author of Margaret, Maitland,” 1 50 

The Bohemians of London. By Edward M. Whitty, 1 50 

Wild Sports and Adventures in Africa. By Major W. C. Harri.^, 1 50 

The Life, Writings, and Lectures of the late “ Fanny Fern,” 1 50 

The Life and Lectures of Lola Montez, with her portrait, 1 5(1 

Wild Southern Scenes. By author of ‘^Wild Western Scenes,” 1 50 

Currer Lyle ; or, the Autobiography of an Actress. By Louise Reeder. 1 50 

The Cabin and Parlor. By J. Thornton Randolph. Illustrated, 1 50 

The Little Beauty. A Love Story. By Mrs. Grey, 1 50 

Lizzie Glenn ; or, the Trials of a Seamstress. By T. S. Arthur, 1 50 

Lady Maud ; or, the Wonder of Kingswood Chase. By Pierce Egan, 1 50 

Wilfred Montressor ; or. High Life in New York. Illustrated, 1 50 

Lorrimer Littlegood, by author ** Harry Coverdale’s Courtship,” 1 50 

Married at Last. A Love Story. By Annie Thomas, 1 50 

Shoulder Straps. By Henry Morford, author of Days of Shoddy,” 1 50 
Days of Shoddy. By Henry Morford, author of Shoulder Straps,” 1 50 

The Coward. By Henry Morford, author of Shoulder Straps,” 1 50 

Above books are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 

The Roman Traitor. By Henry William Herbert. A Roman Story, 1 75 
The Last Athenian. By Victor Rydberg. From the Swedish, 1 75 


MRS. HENRY WOOD’S BEST BOOKS, IN CLOTH. 

The following are cloth editions of Mrs, Henry Wood*s best books, and they 
are each issued in large octavo volumes, bound in cloth, price $1.75 each. 
Within the Maze. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of *^East Lynne,” $1 75 

The Master of Greylands. By Mrs. Henry Wood, 1 75 

Dene Hollow. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “Within the Maze,” 1 75 
Bessy Rane. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “The Channings,”.... 1 75 
George Canterbury’s Will. By Mrs. Wood, author “Oswald Cray,” 1 75 
The Channings. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ Dene Hollow,”... 1 75 

Roland Yorke. A Sequel to “ The Channings.” By Mrs. Wood, 1 75 

Shadow of Ashlydyatt. By Mrs. Wood, author of “ Bessy Rane,”.... 1 75 
Lord Oakburn’s Daughters; or The Earl’s Heirs. By Mrs. Wood,... 1 75 
Verner’s Pride. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ The Channings,” 1 75 
The Castle’s Heir; or Lady Adelaide’s Oath. By Mrs. Henry Wood, 1 75 
Oswald Cray. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ Roland Yorke,”.... 1 75 

Squire Trevlyn’s Heir; or Trevlyn Hold. By Mrs. Henry Wood, 1 75 

The Red Court Farm. By Mrs. Wood, author of “ Verner’s Pride,” 1 75 
Elster’s Folly. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ Castle’s Heir,”... 1 75 
St. Martin's Eve. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “Dene Hollow,”! 75 
Mildred Arkoll. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “East Lynne,” 1 75 


1^* Above Books will bo sont, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Fric«t 
by T. 0 . Fetorson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 11 


ALEXANDER DUMAS’ ROMANCES, IN CLOTH. 

Th* /(Ulowiiig are cloth editions of Alexander Dumas* works^ and they ar$ 
each issued in large octavo volumes, bound in cloth, price $1.50 each. 
The Three Guardsmen ; or, The Three Mousquetaires. By A. Dumas, $1 60 
Twenty Years After; or the Second Series of Three Guardsmen,**... 1 50 
Bragelonne; Son of Athos ; or “ Third Series of Three Guardsmen,** 1 50 
The Iron Mask; or the “ Fourth Series of The Three Guardsmen,**.... 1 50 
Louise La Valliere. The Sequel to *^The Iron Mask.** Btirg the 

^ Fifth Book and End q/ the Three Guardsmen Series,** 1 50 

The Memoirs of a Physician; or, Joseph Balsamo. Illustrated, 1 50 

Queens Necklace; or** Second Series of Memoirs of a Physician** 1 50 
Six Years Later; or the ** Third Series of Memoirs of a Physician** 1 50 
Countess of Charny; or ** Fourth Series of Memoirs of a Physician,** 1 5P 
Andree De Taverney ; or Fifth Series of Memoirs of a Physician,** 1 50 
The ^Chevalier. 2he Sequel to ** Andree Dc Taverney** Being the 
**Sixth Book and End oj the Memoirs <f a Physician Series,**,...,,. 1 50 

The Adventures of a Marquis. By Alexander Dumas, 1 50 

The Forty-Five Guardsmen. By Alexander Dumas. Illustrated,... 1 50 
Diana of Meridor, or Lady of Monsoreau. By Alexander Dumas,... 1 50 
The Iron Hand. By Alex. Dumas, author Count of Monfe-Cristo,’* 1 50 

Camille; or the Fate of a Coquette. (La Dame aux Camelias,) 1 50 

The Conscript. A novel of the Days of Napoleon the First, 1 50 

Love and Liberty. A novel of the French Revolution of 1792-1703^ J 50 

THE COUNT OF MONTE-CRISTO SERIES,” IN CLOTH. 

The CouTit of Monte-Cristo. By Alexander Dumas. Illustrated,... 1 50 

Edmond Dantes. The Sequel to the ** Count of Monte-Cristo,” 1 25 

Monte-Cristo’s Daughter. Sequel to and end of Edmond Dantes 1 25 
The Counte.‘<vS of Monte-Cri.‘?to. The Companion to “ Monte-Cristo,” 1 50 
The Wife of Monte-Cristo. Continuation of ^‘Count of Monte-Cristo,” I 25 
The Son of Monte-Cristo. The Seqoel to Wife of Monte-Cristo,” 1 25 

T. S. ARTHUR’S GREAT TEMPERANCE BOOKS. 

Six Nights with the Washingtonians, Illustrated. T. S. Arthur’s 
Great Temperance Stones. Large Subscription Edition, cloth, gilt, 

$3.50; Red Roan, $l.o0; Full Turkey Antique. Full Gilt, C OP 

The Latimer Family ; or the Bottle and Pledge. By T. S. Arthur, cloth, 1 OP 

MODEL SPEAKERS AND READERS. 


Oemstock's Elocution and Model Speaker. Intended for the use of 
Schools, Colleges, and for private Study, for the Promotion of 
Health, Cure of Stammering, and Defective Articulation. By 
Andrew Comstock and Philip Lawrence. With 236 Illustrations.. \ PI 
The Lawrence Speaker. A Selection of Literary Gems in Poetry and 
Prose, designed for the use of Colleges. Schools, Seminaries, Literary 
Societies. By Philip Lawrence, Professor of Elocution. 600 pages.. 2 OP 
Comstock’s Colored Chart. Being a perfect Alphabet of the English 
Language, with exercises in Pitch, Force and Gesture, and Sixty- 
Eight colored figures, repre.«enting the postures and attitudes to be 
used in declamation. On a large Roller. Every School should have it. 5 01 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Prie^ 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, 


12 T. B. PETERSOIf & BROTHERS’ PBuLICATIOKS. 


WORRS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The following hoitka are each issued in one large octavo volume, bound in 
cloth, at $1.50 each, 'r each one is done up in paper cover, at $1.00 each. 

The Wandering Jew. By Eugene Sue. Full of Illustrations, $1 50 

Mysteries of Paris; and its Sequel, Gerolstein. By Eugene Sue,.... 1 50 

Martin, the Foundling. By Eugene Sue. Full of Illustrations, 1 5C 

Ten Thousand a Year. By Samuel Warren. With Illustrations,.... 1 5C 

The following hooks are each issued in one large octavo volume, hound in 
cloth, at $2.00 each, or each one is done up in paper cover, $l 50 each, 

Washington and Ilis Generals. By George Lippard, 2 00 

The Quaker City; or, the Monks of Monk Hall. By George Lippard, 2 00 

Blanche of Brandywine. By George Lippard, 2 Oi 

Paul Ardenheim; the Monk of Wissahickon. By George Lippard,, 2 00 
The Mysteries of Florence. By Geo. Lippard, author Quaker City,” 2 00 
The Pictorial Tower of London. By W. Harrison Ainsworth, 2 50 

The following are each issued in one large octavo volume, bound in cloth, price $1.50 
each, or a cheap edition is issued in paper cover, at lb cents each. 


Charles O’Malley, the Irisli Dragoon. By Charles Lever, Cloth, $1 50 

Harry Lorrequer. With his Confessions. By Charles Lever,. ..Cloth, 1 50 

Jack Hinton, the Guardsman. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 1 50 

Davenport Dunn. A Man of Our Day. By Charles Lever,... Cloth, 1 50 

Tom Burke of Ours. By Charles Lever,.. Cloth, 1 50 

The Knight of Gwynne. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 1 50 

Arthur O’Leary. By Charl<>:? Lever, Cloth, 1 50 

Con Cregan. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 1 50 

Horace Templeton. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 1 60 

Kate O’Donoghue. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 1 50 

Valentine Vox, the Ventriloquist. By Harry Cockton, Cloth, 1 50 


HUMOROUS ILLUSTRATED BOOKS. 

Each one is full of Illustrations, by Felix 0* G, Darley, and bound in Cloth, 
Major Jones’ Courtship and Travels. In one vol., 29 Illustrations, .$1 75 

Major Jones’ Scenes in Georgia. With 16 Illustrations, 1 60 

Swamp Doctor’s Adventures in the South-West. 14 Illustrations,... 1 50 

Col. Thorpe’s Scenes in Arkansaw. With 16 Illustrations, 1 50 

High Life in New York, by Jonathan Slick. With Illustrations,.... 1 60 

Piney Wood’s Tavern; or, Sam Slick in Texas. Illustrated, 1 50 

Humors of Faleonbridge. By J. F. Kelley. With Illustrations, ... 1 50 

Simon Suggs' Adventures and Travels. With 17 Illustrations, 1 50 

The Big Bear’s Adventures and Travels. With 18 Illustrations, 1 60 

Judge Haliburton’s Yankee Stories. Illustrated, 1 50 

Harry Coverdale’s Courtship and Marriage. Illustrated, 1 60 

Lorrimer Littlegood. Illustrated. By author of “ Frank Fairlegh,” 1 60 
Neal’s Charcoal Sketches. By Joseph C. Neal. 21 Illustrations,... 2 60 
Major Jones’s Courtship. 21 Illustrations. Paper, 76 cents, cloth...... 1 00 

Major Jones’s Travels. 8 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, 1 01 

Major Jones’s Georgia Scenes. 12 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, 1 00 
Raney Cottem’s Courtship. 8 Illustrations. Paper, 50 cents, cloth, 1 00 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Hetail PriM^ 
by T. B. Peterson A Brothers, Philadelphia, Fa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 13 


STANDARD NOVELS, BY BEST WRITERS. 

A Speculator in Petticoats. By Hector Malot. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1 25 
Which ? or. Between Two Women. By Daudet. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, 1 25 
Consuelo. By George Sand. One volume, 12mo., bound in cloth,... 1 50 
The Countess of Kudolstadt. Sequel to “ Consuelo." 12mo., cloth,.. 1 50 
Indiana. A Novel. By George Sand, author of Consuelo," cloth, 1 50 
Jealousy ; or, Teverino. By George Sand, author Consuelo," cloth, 1 50 
Fanchon, the Cricket; or, La Petite Fadette. By George Sand, cloth, 1 50 


Twelve Years of My Life. By Mrs. B. Beaumont, cloth, 1 50 

Iphigenia. A Woman of Progress. ByHugoFurst. Paper, 75, cloth, 1 25 

The Dead Secret. By Wilkie Collins, author of “ Basil," cloth, 1 50 

The Crossed Path ; or Basil. By Wilkie Collins, cloth, 1 50 


Mystery of Edwin Drood ; and Master Humphrey’s Clock, by Dickens, 1 50 
John Jasper’s Secret. Sequel to Mystery of Edwin Drood f* 1 50 

The Life of Charles Dickens. By Dr. R. Shelton Mackenzie, cloth, 1 50 
The Lamplighter’s Story, with others. By Charles Dickens, cloth,... 1 50 
The Old Stone Mansion. By author of “ Heiress of Sweetwater," cloth, 1 50 
Lord Montagu’s Page. By G. P. R. James, author** Cavalier," cloth, 1 50 
The Earl of Mayfield. By Thomas P. May, cloth, black and gold,.. 1 50 

Myrtle Lawn. A Novel. By Robert E. Ballard, cloth, 1 50 

Corinne; or, Italy. A Love Story. By Madame de Stael, cloth,.... 1 00 
Cyrilla; or Mysterious Engagement. By author of ** Initials," cloth,.. 1 00 

Treason at Home. A Novel. By Mrs. Greenough, cloth 1 50 

Letters from Europe. By Colonel John W. Forney. Bound in cloth, 1 50 

Frank Fairlegh. By author of ** Lewis Arundel," cloth, 1 50 

Lewis Arundel. By author of “Frank Fairlegh," cloth,. 1 50 

Harry Racket Scapegrace. By the author of “ Frank Fairlegh," cloth, 1 50 

Tom Racquet. By author of ** Frank Fairlegh," cloth, 1 50 

Sam Slick, the Clockmaker. By Judge Haliburton. Illustrated,... 1 5ft 

Modern Chivalry. By Judge Breckenridge. Two vols., each 1 54 

LaGaviota; the Sea-Gull. By Fernan Caballero, cloth, 1 50 

Aurora Floyd. By Miss M. E. Braddon. Bound in cloth, 1 00 

Laws and Practice of the Game of Euchre and Draw Poker, cloth,.. \ 00 
Youth of Shakspeare, author ‘*Shakspeare and His Friends," cloth, 1 25 
Shakspeare and His Friends, author “ Youth of Shakspeare," cloth, 1 25 
The Secret Passion, author of “ Shakspeare and His Friends," cloth, 1 25 
Father Tom and the Pope; or, A Night at the Vatican, illus., cloth, 1 00 

Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott. One 8vo. volume, cloth, 2 50 

Life of Sir Walter Scott. By John G. Lockhart. With Portrait, 2 50 

Life, Speeches and Martyrdom of Abraham Lincoln. Illus., cloth,., 1 50 
Rome and the Papacy. A History of Rome in Nineteenth Century, 1 50 
The French, German, Spanish, Latin and Italian Languages Without 
a Master. Whereby any one of these Languages can be learned 

without a Teacher. By A. H. Monteith. One volume, cloth, 2 00 

Liebig’s Complete Works on Chemistry. By Justus Liebig, cloth,... 2 00 

Life and .Adventure^! of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, cloth, 1 50 

The Impeachment Trial of President Andrew Johnson. Cloth, 1 50 

Trial of the Assassins for the Murder of Abraham Lincoln. Cloth,.., 1 50 
Just One Day. By author of ‘* Helen’s Babies." Paper 50, cloth,.. 1 00 


IQT Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail PriMi 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


14 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


BEAUTIFUL SNOW! NEW & ENLARGED EDITION. 

Benutiful Snow ! A New and Enlarged Edition is just ready of 
** Beantifid Snow; with Other Poems never before ‘puhlishedy ' by J. 

W. Watson, with Original Illustrations by Edward L. Henry. This 
New and Enlarged edition of^‘ Beautiful Snow; with Other Poems,'' 
iMntains, besides all the Poems that were in the original editions 
of “ Beautiful Snow,’' and in The Outcast and Other Poems," 
many New and Original Poems by the author of Beautiful 
Snow," which have never before been published, and ye fully 
equal to the Poem of “ Beautiful Snow." It is complete in one 
volume, morocco cloth, black and gold, gilt top and back, price.,..$J (M 
In full gilt, morocco cloth, full gilt edges, gilt back, gilt sides, etc..,. S Of 
The Outcast, and Other Poems. By J. W. Watson, author of “Beau- 
tiful Snow." One volume, morocco cloth, price 1 Of 

NEW AND GOOD BOOKS BY BEST AUTHORS- 

Hans Breitmann’s Ballads. By Charles G. Leland. Containing the 
**Fir»ty* Second f “ Third f ** Fourth” and **Fifth Series” of Hans 


Breitniann’s Ballads. Complete in one large volume, bound in 
morocco cloth, gilt side, gilt top, and full gilt back, with beveled 

boards. With a full and complete Glossary to the whole work, 4 Of 

Meister Karl’s Sketch Book. By Charles G. Leland, (Hans Breit- 
mann.) Complete in one volume, green morocco cloth, gilt side, 
gilt top, gilt back, with beveled boards, price $2.50, or in maroon 
morocco cloth, full gilt edges, full gilt back, full gilt sides, etc., 3 ff 


The Young Magdalen; and Other Poems. Bound in green mo- 
rocco cloth, gilt top, side, and back, price $3.00; or in full gilt,.... 4 00 
The Ladies’ Guide to True Politeness and Perfect Manners. By 
Miss Leslie. Every lady should have it. Cloth, full gilt back,... 1 50 
The Ladies' Complete Guide to Needlework and Embroidery. With 

113 illustrations. By Miss Lambert, Cloth, full gilt back, 1 50 

The Ladies’ Work Table Book. 27 illustrations. Paper 50 cts., cloth, 1 00 
Dow’s Short Patent Sermons. By Dow, Jr. In 4 vols., cloth, each.... 1 25 

Wild Oats Sown Abroad. By T. B. Witmer, cloth, 1 50 

The Miser’s Daughter. By William Harrison Ainsworth, cloth, 1 50 

Across the Atlantic. Letters from France, Switzerland, Germany, 1 50 
Popery Exposed. -An Exposition of Popery as it was and is, cloth, 1 50 
The Adopted Heir. By Miss Pardoe, author of “The Earl’s Secret," 1 50 
Coal, Coal Oil, and all other Minerals in the Earth. By Eli Bowen, 1 50 
Historical Sketches of Plymouth, Luzerne Co., Penna. By Hendrick 
B. Wright, of Wilkesbarre. With Twenty-five Photographs, 4 00 


HARRY COCKTON’S LAUGHABLE NOVELS. 


Valentine Vox, Ventriloquist,.. 75 


Valentine Vox, cloth, 1 50 

Sylvester Sound, 75 

The Love Match^ 75 


The Fatal Marriages, 

The Steward, 

Percy Effingham, 

The Prince, 


75 

75 

75 

75 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on reeeipt of Retail Friee^ 
bv T. B. Peterson A Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 15 


BOOKS IN SETS BY THE BEST AUTHORS. 


Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth's Famous Works. 43 vols. in all 64 511 

Mrs. Ann S. Stephens’ Celebrated Novels. 23 volumes in all, 34 50 

Miss Eliza A. Dupuy’s Wonderful Books. Fourteen volumes in all, 21 00 
Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz’s Exquisite Books. Twelve volumes in ali, 18 00 

Mrr C. A. Warfield’s Popular Works. Nitie volumes in all, 13 54 

Fr« icrika Bremer’s Domestic Novels. Six volumes in all, 9 00 

T. Adolphus Trollope’s Italian Novels. Seven volumes in all," 10 5d 

James A. Maitland's Household Stories. Seven volumes in all, 10 56 

Chavles Lever’s Works. Ten volumes in all,.... 15 06 

Alexander Dumas’ Great Romances. Tweuty-one volumes in all,.. 31 SO 

Frank Fairlegh’s Works. Six volumes in all, 9 06 

Cook Books. The best in the world. Eleven volumes in all, 3f> 50 

Mrs. Henry Wood’s Novels. Seventeen volumes in alk 59 75 

Q. K. Philander Doestick’s Funny Books. Four vols. in ali 6 00 

Emerson Bennett’s Indian Stories. Seven volumes in all 10 56 

American Humorous Books. Illustrated. Twelve volumes in all, 18 00 

Eugene Sue’s Best Works. Three volumes in all, 4 50 

George Sand’s Great Novels. Consuelo, etc. Five volumes in all,. 7 56 

George Lippard’s Weird Romances. Five volumes in all, 10 00 

Dow’s Short Patent Sermons. Four volumes in all 5 00 


The Waverley Novels. New National E<Lili<»i. Five 8vo. vols., cloth, 1 5 06 
Charles Dickens’ Works. New National E'iition. 7 volumes, cloth, 20 00 
Charles Dickens’ Works. lUmtrated 8yo. Edition. 18 vols., cloth, 27 00 
Charles Dickens’ Works. Neio American Edition. 22 vols., cloth, 3^ 00 
Charles Dickens’ Works. Green Cloth \2 mo. Edition. 22 vols., cloth, 4-* 00 
Charles Dickens’ Works. Illustrated \2tno. Edition. 36 vols., cloth, 4® 00 


ALEXANDER DUMAS’ ROMANCES, IN PAPER. 

Count of Monte-Ciisto,... $l 00 i Memoirs of a Physician,* or, 

Edmond Dantes, 75 Joseph Balsa mo, $1 00 

The Three Guardsmen, 75 , Queen’s Necklace, 1 00 

Twenty Years After, 75 ! Six Years Later,....., I 00 

Rragelonne, 75 | Countess of Charny, 1 00 

The Iron Mask, 1 00 I Andree de Taverney, 1 00 

Louise La Valliere, I 00 j Thr Chevalier, 1 00 

Diana of Meridor 1 00 j Forty-five Guardsmen, 1 00 

Adventures of a Marquis, 1 00 j The Iron Hand 1 00 

Love and Liberty, (1792-’93).. 1 00 | The Conscript, 1 00 

Camille; or. The Fate of a Coquette, (La Dame Aux Camelias,) 1 60 

Countess of Monte-Cristo. The companion to Count of Monte-Cristo 1 06 
The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.50 each. 


The Wife of Monte-Cristo... 
The Son of Monte-Cristo.... 
Monte-Cristo’s Daughter.... 

The Mohicans of Paris, 

The Horrors of Paris 

The Fallen Angel, 

Felina de Chambure, 

Sketches in France, 

The Count of Moret, 50 ] 


T5 I Isabel of Bavaria, 

T5 j The Man with Five Wives,.... 
75 j Annette; or, Lady of Pearls,. 

75 j Twin Lieutenants, 

75 I George ; or. Isle of France,..., 

75 ‘ Madame de Chumblay, 

75 I The Cor.sican Brothers, 

75 The Marriage Verdict,.. 

BUick Tulip 50 I Buried Alive, 


76 

76 

76 

60 

60 

56 

50 

50 

26 


Above Books will be sent*, postage paid, on Receipt of Retail Prica, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia. Pa. 


16 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


PETERSONS’ “DOLLAR SERIES.’’ 

** Dollar Series " of Good Novels are the cheapest hooks at One Dollar each 
ever published. They are all issued in uniform style, in \2mo. form, and are 
hound in red, blue and tan vellum, with gold and black sides and back, and are sold 
the low price of One Dollar each, while they are as large as any books published 
at ^ 1.75 and ^ 2.00 each. The following have already been issued in this series: 

A Woman’s Thoughts About Women. By Miss Mulock. 

Two Ways to Matrimony ; Is It Love, or, False Pride ? 

The Story of “ Elizabeth.” iBy Miss Thackeray. 

Flirtations in Fashionable Life. By Catharine Sinclair. 

Lady Edith; or, Alton Towers. A very charming and fascinating work. 
Myrtle Lawn; or, True Love Never Did Run Smooth. A Love Story. 

The Matchmaker. A Society Novel. By Beatrice Reynolds. 

Rose Douglas, the Bonnie Scotch Lass. A Companion to “ Family Pride.^* 
The Earl’s Secret. A Charming Love Story, By Miss Pardoe. 

Family Secrets. A Companion to “Family Pride,” and very fascinating. 
The Macdermots of Ballycloran. An Exciting Novel, by A. Trollope. 

The Family Su.Ve-All. With Economical Receipts for the Household. 
Self-Sacrifice. A Charming Work. By author of “Margaret Maitland." 
The Pride of Life. A Love Story. By Lady Jane Scott. 

The Rival Belles ; or. Life in Washington. Author “ Wild Western Scenes." 
The Clylfards of Clyffe. By James Payn, author “ Lost Sir Massingberd." 
The Orphan’s Trials; or. Alone in a Great City, By Emerson Bennett. 
The Heiress of Sweetwater. A Love Story, abounding with exciting scenes. 
The Refugee. A delightful book, full of food for laughter, and information. 
Lost Sir Massingberd. A Love Story. By author of “ Clyffards of Clyfie." 
Cora Belmont; or. The Sincere Lover. A True Story of the Heart. 

The Lover’s Trials ; or. The Days Before the Revolution. By Mrs. Denison. 
My Son’s Wife, A strong, bright, interesting and charming Novel. 

Aunt Patty’s Scrap Bag. By Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz, author of “ Rena." 
Saratoga! and the Famous Springs, An Indian Tale of Frontier Life, 
Country Quarters, A Charming Love Story. By Countess of Blessington. 
Self-Love. A Book for Young Ladies, with prospects in Life contrasted. 
The Devoted Bride; or. Faith and Fidelity, A Love Story. 

Colley Cibber’s Life of Edwin Forrest, with Reminiscences of the Actor, 
Out of the Depths. The Story of a Woman’s Life, and a Woman’s Book. 
The Queen’s Favorite ; or, The Price of a Crown. A Romance of Don J aa». 
Six Nights with the Washingtonians. By T. S. Arthur. Illustrated. 

The Coquette; or, the Life and Letters of the beautiful Eliza Wharton. 
.Harem Life in Egypt and Constantinople. By Emmeline Lott. 

The Old Patroon; or. The Great Van Broek Property, by J. A. Maitland. 
Nana, By Emile Zola. Gambling Exposed, ByJ. H. Greeiv 

L’Assommoir. By Emile Zola, Woodburn Grange. By W. Howitt, 

Dream Numbers. By Trollope. The Cavalier. By G. P. R. James. 

A Lonely Lifc. Across the Atlantic. 

The Beautiful Widow. Shoulder-Straps. By H. Morford. 

Love and Duty. By Mrs. Hubback. The Brothers’ Secret. 

The Heiress in the Family. The Rector’s Wifoc 

Woman’s Wrong. A Woman’s Book. The Man of the World. 


^iF^AkoTe Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Prioa 
bj T. B Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


•L B. PETERSON & BROTHERS* PUBLICATIONS. IT 


PETERSONS’ “STERLING SERIES.’’ 

^Fitcnoru!* SterUtuj Stnes ” of New and Good Books are the Cheapest NoshU 
in the world. They arc all issued in uniform style, in octavo form, pric4 
One Dollar each, bound in morocco cloth, black and gold ; or 76 cents each 
in pajyer cove>\ with the edges cut open all around. The following 
celebrated works have already been issued in this series: 

[/orinrie; or, Italy By Madame De StaeL This is a Wonderful Book. 
The Man in Black,- or the Days of Queen Anne. By G. P. R. James. 
Bdin-a ; or. Missing Since Midnight. A Love Story. By Mrs. Henry Woc4 
Cyrilla. A Love Story. By the author of The Initials.” 

Popping the Question; or, Belle of the Ball. By author of ^^Thc Jilt.” 
Marrying for Monvy. A Charming Love Story in Real Life. 

Aurora Floyd. An Absorbing Love Story. By Miss M. E. Braddon. 
Salathiel; or, The Wandering Jew. By Rev. George Croly. 
il.irrv Lorrequer. Full of Fun, Frolic and Adventure. By Charles Levef, 
Charles O'Malley, the Irish Dragoon. Charles Lever’s Greatest Novel. 
The Flirt. A Fashionable Novel. By author of “ The Gambler’s Wife,” 
The Dead Secret. Wilkie Collins’ Greatest Work. 

Thackeray’s Irish Sketch Book, with Thirty-eight Illustratioms. 

The Wib ’s Trials. Dramatic and Powerful. By Miss Julia Pardoe. 

The Man With Five Wives. By Alexander Dutuas, author of “ Camille.* 
Pickwick Abroad. Illustrated by Cruikshank. By G. W. M. Reynolds. 
First and True Love. Boantifully rich in style. By George Sand. 

The Mystery; or, Anne Hereford. A Love Story. By Mrs. Henry Wood. 
The Steward. Illustrated. By the author of “ Valentine Vox.” 

Basil: or. The Crossed Path. By Wilkie Collins. 'Told with great power. 
The Je-alous Wife. Great originality of plot. By Miss Julia Pardoe. 
-Sylvester Sound. By the author of “ Valentine Vox, the Ventriloquist.” 
Whitefriars; or, The Days of Charles the Second. Equal to “Ivanhoe.” 
Webster and Hayne’s Speeches on Foot’s Resolution <fc Slavery Compromise. 
The Rival Beauties. A Beautiful Love Story. By Miss Pardoe. 

The Confessions of a Pretty Woman. By Miss Julia Pardoe. 

Flirtations in America; or. High Life in New York. 

The Coquette. A Powerful and .Amusing Tale of Love and Pride. 

The Latimer F'amily. 'T. S. Arthur’s Great Temperance Story, illustrated 
Above books are $1.00 each in cloth, or 75 cents each in paper cover. 
The Creole Beauty. By Mrs. Sarali A. Dor.sey. Price Fifty cents. 

Agues Graham. By Mrs. Sarah A. Dorsey. Price Fifty cents, 

HENRY MORFORD’S AMERICAN NOVELS. 

Bhoulder-Straps, $1 50 I The Days of Shoddy. A His- 

The Coward, 1 50 I tory of the late War, ^ M 

Above are each bound in morocco cloth, price $1.50 each. 

THE SHAKSPEARE NOVELS. 

Shakspeare and his Friends,. ..$1 00 j The Secret Passion, ......c.Sl 0# 

The Youth of Shakspeare, 1 00 I 

Above three Books are also bound in morocco cloth. Price $1.25 eaell. 


gg" Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Prio* 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa^ 


18 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


CHARLES LEVER’S GREAT WORKS. 

Chrtfles O’Miilley 76 

Harry Lorrequor, 76 

Jack }lint(<ii, 76 

Tom Burke <4 Our.s, 76 

Knight of G Wynne, 7o 


Arthur O’Leary, 75 

Con Cregan, 75 

DMvenportDunn, 76 

Horace Templeton, 75 

Kate O’Donoghue, 76 


Above are iu paper cover, or a tioe edition is in cloth at $1.60 each. 

A Rent in a Cloud 50 [ St. Patrick’s Eve, 50 

Ten Thousand a Year, in one volume, paper cover, $1.00; or in cloth, ] 56 
The Diary of a Medical Student, by author ‘‘ Ten Thousand a Year,” 


MRS. HENRY WOOD’S MASTERLY BOOKS. 


The Master of Greylands,..., 

...$1 

50 

The Shadow of A.shlydyat,... 

,..$l 50 

Within the Muze, 

... 1 

50 

Squire Trevlyn’s Heir, 

... 1 

50 

Dene Hollow, 

... 1 

50 

Oswald Cray, 


50 

Bessy Rane, 

George Canterbury’s Will,... 

... 1 

50 

Mildred Arkell 

... 1 

50 

... 1 

50 

The Red Court Farm, 


50 

Verner’s Pride, 

... 1 

50 

ELter’s Folly 

... 1 

50 

The Channings, 

... 1 

50 

Saint Martin’s Eve,.. 

... 1 

50 


Roland Yorke. A Sequel to ‘^The Channings,” 1 60 

Lord Oakburn’s Daughters ; or, The Earl’s Heirs, 1 50 

The Castle’s Heir ; or. Lady Adelaide’s Oath, 1 50 


The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 


Elina; or, Missing Since Midnight. Cloth, $1.00, or in paper cover,. 

The Mystery. A Love Story. Cloth, $1.00, or in paper cover, 

Parkwater. Toi l in Twilight. 75' A Life’s Secret 


The Lost Bank Note 

The Lost Will 

Orville College, 

Five Thousand a Year, 

The Diamond Bracelet, 

Clara Lake’s Dream, 

The Nobleman’s Wife, 

Frances Hildyar l, 

Cyrilla Maude’s First Love,.., 
My Cousin Caroline’s Wedding 


60, The Haunted Tower. 

50 The Runaway Match, 

50 Martyn Ware’s Temptation,..,., 

25 Foggy Night at OfFord, 

25|William Allair, 

25 A Light and a Dark Christmas, 

25 The ^^muggler’s Ghost 

25 Rupert Hall, 

25 My Husband’s First Love, 

25 Marrying Beneath Your Station 


75 

75 

50 

56 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 


EUGENE SUE’S LIFE-LIKE WORKS. 

The Wandering Jew, $1 00 First Love. 

fhe Alysteries of Paris, 1 00 

Martin, the Foundling, 1 00 

Above are in cloth at $1*60 each. 


Woman’s Love, 

Female Bluebeard,.., 
Man of-War’s-Man,. 


Life and Adventures of Raoul de Surville. A Tale of the Empire, 


M 

50 

50 

50 

25 


WILLIAM H. MAXWELL’S WORKS. 

Wild Sports of the West, 75 i Brian O’Lynn, 75 

Stories of Waterloo 75 ! Life of Grace O’Malley, 50 

^ 

Above Books will be sent, postag’e paid, on receipt of Betail 
by X. fi Petev’toQ A Brothers, Pbiladeiphiai Pa. 


t B. PETERSuN & BLOTfiERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 19 


HUMOROUS AMERICAN WORKS. 

With Illuminated Covera^ and heautifuUy lUuntrated hy Felix 0, C. Darlay^ 

Major Jones’s Courtship. With Illustrations by Darley, 75 

Major Jones’s Travels. Full of Illustrations 75 

Major Jones’s Georgia Scouc-s, with Illustrations by Darloy 75 

Raney Cottem’s Courtship, by author of Major Jone.s’s Courtship,.... 

The Adventures of Captain Simon Sugg^. Illustrated, 75 

Major Jones’s Chronicles of Pineville. Illustrated, 75 

Polly Peablossom’s Wedding. With Illu8tration.<5, 75 

Widow Rugby’s Husband. Full of Illustrations, 75 

The Big Bear of Arkansas. Illustrated by Darley, 75 

Western Scenes; or, Life on the Prairie. Illustrated, 75 

Streaks of Squatter Life and Far West Scenes. Illustrated, 75 

Pickings from the New Orleans Picayune. Illustrated, 75 

Stray Subjects Arrested and Bound Over. Illustrated, 75 

The Louisiana Swamp Doctor. Full of Illustrations, 75 

Charcoal Sketches. By Jo.seph C. Neal. Illustrated, 75 

Peter Faber’s Misfortunes. By Joseph C Neal. Illustrated, 75 

Peter Ploddy and other Odditie.*^. By Jo.‘«eph , Ne;il, 75 

Yankee Among the Mermaids. By William E. Burton 75 

The Drama in Pokerville. By J. M. Field. J iustrated, 75 

New Orleans Sketch Book. With Illu.stration by Darley, «5 

The Deer Stalkers. By Frank Forester. Illustrated, 75 

The Quorndon Hounds. By Frank Forester. Illustrated, 75 

My Shooting Box. By Frank Forester. Illustrated, 75 

The Warwick Woodlands. By Frank Forester. Illustrated, 75 

Adventures of Captain Farrago. By H. H. Brackenridge, 75 

Adventures of Major O’Regan. By H. H. Brackenridge, 75 

Sol Smith’s Theatrical Apprenticeship. Illustrated, 75 

Sol Smith’s Theatrical Journey-Work. Illustrated, 75 

Quarter Race in Kentucky. With Illustrations by Darley, 75 

The Mysteries of the Backwoods. By T. B. Thorpe, 75 

Percival Mayberry's Adventures. By J. H. Ingraham, 75 

Bam Slick’s Yankee Yarns and Yankee Letters, 75 

Adventures of Fudge Fumble; or. Love Scrapes of his Life, 75 

Aunt Patty’s Scrap Bag. By Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz, 75 

Following the Drum. By Mrs. Gen. Viele, 50 

The American Joe Miller. With 100 Engravings, 50 

SAMUEL WARREN’S BEST BOOKS. 

Ten 'Thousand a Year, paper, $ I 00 I The Diary of a Medical Stu- 

Teu Thousand a Year, cloth,.. 1 50 ' dent, ... 75 

G. P. R. JAMES’S FASCINATING BOOKS. 


The Csvalier. By the author of “ Lord Montague’s Page,” cloth,.... 1 56 

The Man in Black, 75 j Arrah Neil, 75 

l£apj of Burgundy, 75 I Eva St. Clair, 5# 


AboTt Books will be sent, posta§^e paid, on receipt of Retail Prioo 
by T. 3. Peterson A Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


20 T. B. PETEB,S0ir & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


CHARLES DICKENS’ WORKS. 

49“ GREAT KEDUCTION IN THEIR PRICES. “Wl 


ILLUSTRATED OCTAVO EDITION. 

Reduced in price from $2.50 to $1.50 a volume. 

Tkte edition is printed from lartje type, double column, octavo page, each 
book being complete in one volume, the whole containing near Six Hundred 
Illustrations, by Cruikshank, Phiz, Browne, Maclise, and other artists. 


Pickwick Papers, Cloth, 

Nichola.s Nickieby, Cloth, 

Croat Expectations, Cloth, 

Lamplighter’s Story,. ...Cloth, 

Oliver Twist, Cloth, 

Bleak House, Cloth, 

Ijictle Dorrit,.. ...... 

Dombey and Son,.. 


.Cloth, 

$1.50 

.Cloth, 

1.50 

.Cloth, 

1.50 

.Cloth, 

1.50 

.Cloth, 

. 1.50 

.Cloth, 

1.50 

Cloth, 

1.50 

.Cloth, 

1.50 

Cloth, 

1.50 


David Coppertield, Cloth, $1.50 

Barnaby Rudge, Cloth, 1.50 

Martin Chuzzlewit, Cloth, 1.50 

Old Curiosity Shop, Cloth, 1.50 

Sketches by “ Boz,” Cloth, 1.50 

Christmas Stories, Cloth, 1.50 

Dickens’ New Stories, ...Cloth, 1.50 
A Tale of Two Cities,. ..Cloth, 1.50 
Aincr. Notes, Pic-Nic Papers, 1.50 


price of a set, in Black cloth, in eighteen volumes, $27.00 

** Full sheep. Library style, 40.00 

** ** Half calf, sprinkled edges, 48.00 

** ** Half calf, marbled edges, 54.00 

** ** Half calf^ antique, or Half calf, full gilt backs,... 60.00 

ILLUSTRATED DUODECIMO EDITION. 

Reduced in price from $2.00 to $1.25 a volume, 
fkis edition is printed on the finest paper, from large, clear type, leaded, 
that all can read, containing Six Hundred full page Illustrations, on 
tinted paper, from designs by Cruikshank, Phiz, Browne, Maclise, 
McLenan, and other artists. This is the only edition published that con- 
tains all the original illustrations, as selected, by Mr. Charles Dickens. 
Complete in 36 volumes, hound in hack, morocco cloth, price $45.00 a set. 

“ NEW NATIONAL EDITION’* OF DICKENS* WORKS. 

This is the cheapest bound edition of the entire works of Charles Dickeni 
jrer published, all his writings being contained in seven large octavo vol- 
umes, with a portrait of Charles Dickens, and other illustrations. 

Price of a set, in Black cloth, in seven volumes, $20.00 

** Full sheep. Library style, 23.01 

** " Half calf, antique, or Half calf, full gilt backs,... 25.00 

GREEN MOROCCO CLOTH, DUODECIMO EDITION. 

This is the ** People* s Duodecimo Edition** in a new style of Binding, in 
Green Morocco Cloth, Bevelled Boards, Full Gilt descriptive back, and 
Medallion Portrait on sides in gilt, in Twenty-two handy volumes, 12mo., 
fine paper, large clear type, and Two Hundred Illustrations on tinted paper. 
Price $44 a set, and each set put up in a neat and strong box. This i» 
the handsomest and best edition ever published for the price. 


1^* Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Frioe^ 
by T. B. Feten on & Brothers, Fbiiadelphia, Fa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS. 21 


CHARLES DICKENS’ WORKS. 

WGKEAT BEDUOTIOW IN THEIB PBICES,-®» 


PETEBSOKS’ NEW ASEBIOAN EDITION OF DICKENS’ W0BE3 

This new edition of Ch.’irles Dickens’ Writings is in twenty-two volumes, 
and for beauty and cheapness far surpasses any ever before issued. It Is 
jailed ** Petersons’ New American Edition,” and is printed on fine paper, 
from large, clear type, leaded, with original illustrations as selected by 
Mr. Dickens and designed by Phiz, Cruikshank, Browne, Maclise and other 
artists, and bound very gorgeously in red vellum, black and gold, with the 
cover filled with the author’s principal characters, which he has made sc 
world-famous. Price $1.50 a volume, or a complete set in 22 volumes, 
each set put up in a neat box, tor $:^3.00, making a very handsome edition, 

CHEAP PAPER COVER EDITION OF DICKENS* WORKS. 


Each book being complete in one large octavo volume* 


Pickwick Papers, 50 

Nicholas Nickleby, 50 

Doinbey and Son, 50 

Our Mutual Friend, 50 

David Copperfield, 50 

Martin Chuzzlewit, 50 

Old Curiosity Shop, 50 

Oliver Twist, 50 

American Notes, 25 

Hard Times, 25 

A Tale of Two Cities, 25 

Somebody’s Luggage, 25 

Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings, 25 

Mrs. Lirriper’s Legacy, 25 

Mugby Junction, 25 

Dr. Marigold’s Prescriptions,... 25 

Mystery of Edwin Drood, 25 

Message from the Sea, 25 


Hunted Down; and Other Reprinte«i 


Bleak House, 

Little Dorrit, 

Christmas Stories, 

Barnaby Rudge, 

Sketches by “ Boz,” 

Great Expectations, 

Joseph Grimaldi, 

The Pie-Nic Papers, 

The Haunted House, 

Uncommercial Traveller, 

A House to Let, 

Perils of English Prisoners, 

Wreck of the Golden Mary, 

Torn Tiddler’s Ground, 

Dickens’ New Stories, 

Lazy Tour of Idle Apprentices,. 

The Holly-Tree Inn, 

No Thoroughfare, 

Pieces, 


56 

56 

50 

50 

50 

60 

50 

50 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

50 


CHARLES DICKENS* LAST BOOK. 

TEE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD AND MASTER HUMPHREYS 
CLOCK. Both in one volume. People’s Duodecimo Edition, olotk, 
large type. With Portrait and Autograph of the Author. Price $1.50. 

SEQUEL TO “DICKENS’ MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.** 
lOHN JASPER’S SECRET. Being the sequel to Charles Dickens* n<. \ 
of The Mystery of Edwin Drood,** By Charles Dickens, Jr., and Wil- 
kie Collins. 

No set of 

Dicicenscan be complete without a copy of “John Jasper’s Secret” is in 
the set. Bound in black morocco cloth, or in red vellum. Price $1.50. 


f2p4bove Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail PriM^ 
by T. B. Peterson & BrothAv. ' Pa, 


Smile Zola’s Greatest Works. 


NANA AND L’ASSOMMOIR. 


LIST OF £MIL£ ZOLA’S GREAT BOOKS. 

Petersons’ Translations in English for American Readers. 

laA Terre. {The Soil.') By Emile Zola, author of **Nana.** This last book by Zola is creating 
a sensation in Paris perfectly astounding. It is no more “ natural " than some of the old fables, 
lor of course there is a good deal of lovemaking at the vintage harvest, and in it Emile Zola, the 
author, has portrayed the French peasant as he has seen him. Paper, 75 cents; Cloth, ^1.25. 

NHiia! The Sequel to “ L'Assommoir." Naim! By Emile Zola. With a Picture 0/ 
**Nana” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

■ I^^Anfilomiiioir ; or, Nasm's Mother. By Emile Zola, author of ^'Nana.*' With a 
Picture o/“ Gervaise** Nana's mother, on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper, or One Dollar in Cloth. 

Christine, the Model; or Stiidie«4 of I.ove. By Emile Zola, author oi''Nana'* 
and L' Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The S$hop Oirls of ParU, with their Life and Experiences in a Large Dry Goods Store, 
By Emile Zola, author oi** Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

The Flower Girls of .Marisieilles. By Emile Zola, author of ”Nana,” L' Assom^ 
ntoir,” ** The Girl in Scarlet,” etc. Paper cover, 75 cents, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The M^^Mteries of the Court of I.ouis Napoleon. By Emile Zola, author of 
**Nana” and L' Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The^ Flower and Market Girin of Paris. By Emile Zola, author of *‘Nana'* 

and ” L' Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Reiif^e: or, In the Whirlpool. By Emile Zola. With a Portrait 0/ Renee on the cover. 
Zola's New Play of “Renee" was dramatized from this book. Paper, 75 cents ; Cloth, $1.2$. 

Nana’s Arother. The Son of “Gervaise" and “Lantier" of “ L'Assommoi^" By 
Etnile Zola, author of "Nina.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The Girl In Scarlet; or. The I^oves of Silvere and Miette. By Einile Zola, 
author of ” Nana ” and ” L’ Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

A Mad kove; or. The Abbe and His Court. By Emile Zola, author of **Nana’* 

and ”L' Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The .Toys of I.ife; or, Ifow Jolly I.lfe Is. By Emile Zo/a, author of **Nana,** 
** L' Assommoir.” With an Illustration on cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or ^^1.25 in Cloth. 

Clanile’s t’onfessioii. By Emile Zola, author of ”Nana,” ” L' Assommoir,” ** Pot- 
Bjuille,” “ 'I he Girl in Scarlet,” etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or in cloth. Black and Gold. 

Pot-lfionille; or. Piping: Hot. By Emile Zola, oi ** Nana,” Assommoir,” etc. 

With an Illustrated Cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Her Two Husbands. By Emile Zola, author of *‘Nana,” ** L' /.ssommoir,” **PoU 
Bouille,” “ The Girl in Scarlet'' etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, 
ll^l^lie. A Tale of Love and Passion. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana” and L' Assam- 
tnoir.” With a Picture o/*‘ Hellne ” on the ccruer. Price 73 cents in paper cover, or ^1.25 in Cloth. 

Albiiie ; or. The Abbe’s Temptation. By Emile Zola, author of ”Nana ” and *‘L'As- 
eommoir.” With a Picture 0/ *‘Alhine^' on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

Masrdalen Ferat. By E 7 nile Zola, author of ”Nana.”^ With a PicUtre 0/ ** Magdalen 
Ferat” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or ^1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Th^^rftse Kaqnin. By Etnile Zola, author of “Nafia.” With a Portrait 0/ ** Entile Zola'* 
on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Nana’s Aaugrhier. A Continuation of and Sequel to Emile Zola’s Great Realistic Novel of 
**Nana.'‘ Price 75 cents in paper cover, or ^i.oo in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Petersons' American Translations of Etnile Zola's works are for sale by all Booksellers and 
si all News Stands every^vhere , or copies of any one hook, or tnore 0/ them, will be sent to any one, 
' • sny place, at once, post-paid, on remitting the price of the ones wanted in a letter to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadel:>liia, Pa. 


MONTE-CRISTO'S DAUGHTER 

Petersons^ Editions of “ Itlonte-Cristo Series,** 


MONTE-CRISTO’S DAUGHTER. Sequel to Alexander Dumas' Cele 
brated Novel of ^^The Count of Monte- Ct'istof and Coneliision of ^^F.dmonc 
Dantis'^ With an Illustrated Cover, with Portrait of Monte- Cristd' s Daugh 
teVf Zuleikaf on it. Every person that has read The Count of Monte- Cristo'^ 
should get *‘Afonte-Cristo's Daughter at once^ and read it. It is Complete in. 
one large duodecimo volume, paper cover, price 75 cents, or ^1.25 in cloth. 

EiDMONTO D ANTES* The Sequel \.o** 7 he Count of Afotite-Cristof by Alex 
ander Dumas. Edmond Dantes" is one of the most wonderful n mances cvci 
issued. Just at the point where ^^The Count of Alonte-Cristo ” ends, '■'‘Edmonc 
Danfis" takes up the fascinating narrative and continues it with marvellou 
power and absorbing interest unto the end. Every pe 7 'son that has 7 'ead “ Th. 
Count of Monte-Cristof should get Edmond Dantes" at cnce, afid read it 
Complete in one large duodecimo volume, paper, price 75 cents, or $1.25 in cloth 

THE COUNT OF MONTE-CRISTO. Tetersofis^ A'e 7 a Jllustratec 
Edition. By Alexander Dumas. With full-page Engravings, il ustrative of va 
rious scenes in the work. Petersons' Editio 7 i of “ 7 //^ Cou 7 ii of Alotite-Cristo' 
is the C 7 ily Coniplete and Unabridged EditiotJ of it ez'er t 7 'ans/ated, niul it is con 
ceded by all to be the greatest as well as the most exciting and best h.storica* 
novel ever printed. Complete in one large octavo volume ol six hundred pages 
with illustrations, paper cover, price One Dollar, or $1.50 bound in morocco cloth 

THE WIFE OF MONTE-CRISTO. Being the Continuation of Alex 
ander Dumas' Celebrated Novel of ^^The Coutit of Alontc-Cristo." With an 
Illustratecl Cover, with Portraits of Mo 7 ite Cristof ^Mfaydeef and their faithful 
servant, ^^Ali," on it. Every persott that has read “ The Cou 7 it of Aloiite-Cristo"' 
shotild get '•^The Wife of Monte- Cristo " at otice^ a 7 Hi read it. Complete in one 
large duodecimo volume, paper cover, price 75 cents, or 1^1.25 in cloth. 

THE SON OF MONTE-CRISTO. Being the Sequel to “ 7 he Wife oj 
AIo 7 ite- Cristo." With an Illustrated Cover, with Portraits of the heroines in the 
work on it. Every person that has read “ The Coimt of M( 7 ite- Cristo" or ^^Tht. 
Wife of Monte- Cristo f should get ^*The Son of Alvnie- Cristo" at once^ and 7 'eac 
it. One large duodecimo volume, paper cover, price 75 cents, or j$i.25 in cloth 

THE COUNTESS OF JMONTE-CRISTO. Being the Companion tc 
Alexander Dumas' Celebrated Novel of *‘^ 7 'he Cotrnt of Monte- C 7 'ist of and 
fully equal to that world-renowned novel. At the very commencement of the 
novel the Count of Monte Cristo, Haydee, the wife of Monte-Cristo, and Espe- 
rance, the son of Monte-Cristo, take part in a weird scene, in which Mercedes. 
Albert de Morcerf and the Countess of Monte-Cristo also participate. Complete 
in one large octavo volume, paper cover, price One Dol^r, or ^1.50 in cloth. 

Pcte 7 'sons' editions of^^ The Mo 7 ite- Cristo Sei'ies" are for sale by all Booksellers. 

ana at all News k>ta 7 ids every 7 uherey or copies of a 7 ty one or all of Me*;;/, 7 vill be se 7 it ti 

any one^ post-paid y on I'etnitling the price of the ones wanted to the Publishers y 

T. B. BETEBSON d: BBOTIIEBS. Bhiladelphia, T ^ 


List of Emile Zola’s Great Works. 


Petersons’ Translations in English for American Readers. 



La Terre. {The Soil.) By Emile Zola, author of '"Nana.” This last book by Zola is creating 
ft sensation in Paris perfectly astounclmg. It is no more “natural" than some of the old fables, 
for of course there is a good deal of lovemaking at the vintage harvest, and in it Emile Zola, the 
ftuthor, has portrayed the French peasant as he has seen him. Paper, 75 cents; Cloth, ^1.25. 

Nana! The Sequel to “ L’Assominoir.’' Naiia! By Emile Zola. With a Picture 0/ 
**Nana" on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in' Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The Flower aii<i Market GirlH of Paris. By Emile Zola, author of ** 

and ** L* Assommoir." Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

L’Assoiniiioir : or, Nana’s Mollier, By Emile Zola, author of **Nana.*' With s 
Picture o/'‘ Gerz/aise,” Adana’s mother, on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper, or One Dollar in Cloth. 

The Flower Girls of Marseilles. By Emile Zola, author of *‘Nana,’" ** V Assom- 
Vtoir,** “ The Girl in Scarlet,” etc. Paper cover, 75 cents, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Christine, the Moilel; or Stntiies of Love. By Emile Zola, author oi^'Nana** 
and ‘*L‘Assommoir.*’ Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold, 

The Shop Girls of Paris, with their Life and Experiences in a Large Dry Goods Store. 
By Emile Zola, author Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or ^1.25 in Cloth. 

The Mysteries of the Court of Louis Napoleon. By Emile Zola, author of 
*‘Nana” and “ L’ A.^.fommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Reiit^e; or. In the Whirlpool. By Emile Zola. With a Portrait of Renee on the cover. 
Zola's New Play of “Renee" was drainaiized from this book. Paper, 75 cents; Cloth, ^1.25. 

Nana’s Rrother. The Son of “Gcrvaise" and “Lantier" of “ L'Assommoir." By 
Emile Zola, author of “Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The Girl in Scarlet; or. The Loves of Silvere and Miette. By Emile Zola, 
author of “Nana ” and “L’Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

A Mad Love: or. The Abbe and His Court. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana” 
and “ L’ Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cov-er, or ^1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The Joys of Life; or. How Jolly Life Is. By Emile author of “Nana,” ^ 
** L'Assommoir.” With an Illustration on cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

Claude's t'oiifessioii. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana,” “ V Assommoir ,” “Pot- 
Bouille,” “ 'I he Girl in Scarlet,” etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or 1^1.25 in cloth. Black and Gold. 

Pot-houille ; or. Fining' Hot. By Emile Zola, 2cof}oox of “ Nana,” “ U Assommoir f etc. 
With an Illustrated Cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold, 

Her Two Husbands. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana” “L’Assommoir,” “Pot- 
Bouille,” “The Girl in Scarlet f etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

ll^l^nc. A Tale of Love and Passion. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana” and “L’Assom- 
moir.” With a Picture 0/ “ Helene” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

Albine ; or. The Abbe’s Tenintatioii. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana ” and “L’As- 
sommoir.” With a Picture of “Albine^’ on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper, or ;^i.25 in Cloth. 

Mag'daleu Ferat. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana.” With a Picture of “Magdalen 
Ferat” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or ^1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Th€r6se Ra<](u5n. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana.” With a Portrait of ^'Entile Zola* 
on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Nana’s I>aug'hter. A Continuation of and Sequel to Emile Zola's Great Realistic Novel of 
“Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or ;^r.oo in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

9 ^" Petersons’ American Translations of Emile Zola’ s svorks are for sale by all Booksellers and 
mt all News Stands everywhere , or copies of any one book, or more of them, will be sent to any one ^ 
io any place, at once, post-paid, on remitting the price of the ones wanted in a letter to the Publishers, 

T. E. PETEESON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


“MONTE-CRISTO SERIES." 

JPetersons^ Complete mid Unabridged Editions. 


THE COUNT OF MONTE-CIIISTO. Petersons' N'ew Illustrated 
Edition. By Alexander Dumas. Wiih full-page Engravings, illustrative of va- 
riou.s scenes in the work. Petersons' Edition of The Count of Monte- Cristo''' 
is the only Complete and Unabrid's^cd Edition of it ever translated., and it is con- 
ceded by all to be the greatest as well as the most exciting and best historical 
novel ever printed. Complete in one large octavo volume of six hundred pages, 
paper cover, price One Dollar, or ^1.75 bound in morocco cloth. 

THE WIFE OF MONTE-CRISTO. Being the Continuation of Alex^ 
ixa7ider Dumas' Celebrated Novel of "‘'■The Cotint of Monte- Cristo." With an 
Illustrated Cover, with Portraits of ^'•Monte-Cristof Haydeef and their faithful 
servant, ^^Alif on it. Every person that has read “ The Count of A/onte-Cristo” 
should get the continuation of it, “ The Wife of Monte- Cristof at once, and read 
it. Complete in one large volume, paper cover, price 75 cents, or $1.25 bound 
in morocco cloth. 

THE SON OF MONTE-CRISTO. Being the Sequel to “ The Wife of 
Monte-Cristof and the end of the Continuation of Alexander Dumas'' Celebrated 
Novel of ^^The Count of Monte- Crist 0 ." With an Illustrated Cover, with Por- 
traits of the various heroines in the work on it. Every person that has read 
*^The Count of A/onte-Cristo" or The Wife of Monte-Cristof should get the 
conclusion and end of them, '•'■The Son of Monte- Cristof at once, and read it. 
Complete in one large volume, paper cover, price 75 cents, or ^1.25 bound in 
morocco cloth. 

THE COUNTESS OF MONTE-CRISTO. A Companion to Alexan^ 

der Dumas' Celebrated Novel of '•'•The Count of Monte-Cristof and one of the 
most wonderful romances of the age. While the author describes the lovely 
Countess of Monte-Cristo, pale and pure as a lily, powerfully and chastely, other 
portions of the book surpass the most brilliant word-pictures of Victor Hugo or 
Eugene Sue; for the complete work has no parallel, not even in the most per- 
fect work of the great Dumas, ^^The Cotmt of Monte-Cristo I'' Complete in one 
large octavo volume, paper cover, price One Dollar, or ^1.75 in morocco cloth. 

EDMOND DANTES. The Sequel to Alexander Dumas' Celebrated Novel 
of “ The Count of Alonte- Cristo.'" This is the only Edition Published of EdmoJtd 
Dantes, and Copyrighted. Complete in one large octavo volume, paper cover, 
price Seventy-five cents, or a finer edition, bound in morocco cloth, price 1^1.75. 

1 ^* The abiyue five works will survive the wear and tear of centuries, and will be 
read for their great and tragic merit and szistained interest of narrative, for all time 
to come, for they enjoy a popularity such as zio other works ever printed can boast of. 

Above five works are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, at all News 
Stands everywhere, and on all Railroad Trains, or copies of any one or all of them, will 
he sent to any one, post-paid, on remitting the price of the ones wanted to the Publishers, 

T. B. BETimSON db BBOTIIEItS, Bhiladelphln, Pa. 


i BRILLim NOTEl OF SOUTHERN SOCIETY AND PLANTATION LIFE. 

kennethIameron. 

BY 

JTJIDOE L. Gi. C- 

OF LOUISIANA. 

^'Kenneth Cameron'^ will give 'pleasure to all who read it^ hut toill prove par* 
Ocularly agreeable and interesting to those who relish a straightforward and 
not overdrawn love romance. It is a novel of Southern society and plantation life^ 
and is marked throughout by strict fidelity to nature. The Southern types of 
character are well drawn^ and with the negroes and their quaint dialect the 
author has been remarkably successful. The scene is chiefly laid on the planta* 
Oon of Lagrange'^ in Louisiana, but much of the action also takes place in New 
Orleans^ and some of it on the Emerald^' plantation on the 3fississippi Eiver, 
The New Orleans episodes include the famous Ifardi-Gras celebration^ of which a 
vivid and striking description is given; also an exceedingly graphic and exciting 
accourd of a race between Lexington and Lecomte^ rival race-horses^ on each of which 
large sums of money are wagered. The night struggle with the crevasse^ as seen from 
the deck of the 3Iississippi Steamer Belief^ is picturesquely and thrillingly depicted^ 
while the peculiar religious services in the negro church on ^^Lagrange^^ plantation 
are both.cttrious and interesting. There are some sensational incidents^ cw, for exam- 
plCy the capture of the white stranger in the slave quarters at Lagrange ” his subse- 
quent death when striving to escape^ and Tom Ides^ attempt to poison the race-horse 
Lexington. The plot is well worked out. It hinges on Kenneth Cameroids courtship 
of Hortense Gaston^ the society belle^ and the rivalry he meets with from LegriSy a rich 
planter y and Tom IdeSy an unscrupulous adventurer Kenneth is a manly y vigorous 
hero and Hortense a heroine who has excellent qualities of mind and heart as well as 
remarkable personal beauty. The period of the novel is before the civil war, and the 
opinions of the Southern people in regard to slavery are set forth with vigor and clear- 
ness y a feature which certainly will attract attention and cause animated comment. 
Everybody should read Kenneth Gameronf^ It has all the elements of popularity 
and should make a decided kit. 


One Volume, Square l2mo. Paper Cover. Price 75 Cents. 


** Kenneth Cameron ” will be found for sale by all Booksellers and at all News 
Stands everywherey or copies of it will be sent to any onCy to any placCy at once, post- 
paidy on remitting the price to the publisherSy 

T. B. PETERSOJN^ & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


List of Emile Zola’s Great Works. 

Petersons’ Translations in English for American Readers. 

THE FLOWEiTfib MARKET GIRLS 



I^a Terre. ( The Soil.) By Emile Zola, author of "Nana.” This last book by Zola is creatlnf 
a sensation in Paris perfectly astounding. It is no more “natural” than some of the old fables, 
for of course there is a good deal of lovemaking at the vintage harvest, and in it Emile Zola, the 
author, has portrayed the French peasant as he ha-> seen him. Paper, 75 cents; Cloth, $1.25. 

Xnitnl The Sequel to “ L'Assommoir.” Nana ! By Emile Zola. With a Picture 0/ 
*'Nana” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The Flower and market Girls of l*ari«. By Emile Zola, author o{"Nana** 
and "L’Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or ;$i.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold 

li AMHOinmoir; or, Nana’s mother. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana.” With a 
Picture o/" Gervaise,” Nana’s mother, on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper, or One Dollar in Cloth, 

The Flower Girls of marseilles. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana,” " L’ Assom~ 
moir,” " The Girl in Scarlet,” etc. Paper cover, 75 cents, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Ghristiiie, the model; or Studies of Fove, By Emile Zola, author oi"Nana'* 
and " L’ Assommoir .” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold, 

The Shop Girls of Paris, with their Life and Experiences in a Large Dry Goods Store, 
By Emile Zola, author oi " Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.2^ in Cloth. 

The mysteries of the t’oart of f^onis Napoleon, By Emile Zola, author of 
**Nana ” and " L’ Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or ;^x.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Renf‘e: or, In the Whirlpool, By Emile Zola. With a Portrait 0/ Renee on the cover, 
Zola’s New Play of “Renee” was dramatized from this book. Paper, 75 cents ; Cloth, ^^1.25. 

Nana’s Brother, The Son of “Gervaise” and “Lantier” of “L'Assommoir. ” By 
Emile Zola, author of "Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or 11^1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The Girl in Scarlet; or. The l.oves of Silvere and miette. By Emile Zola, 
author oi"Nana ” and " L’ Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

A mad Bove; or. The Ahhe and His tlonrt. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana** 

■xnd " L’ Assommoir .” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The Joys of I.ife; or. How Jolly liife Is. By Emile author of "Nana** 

*' V Assommoir .” With an Illastration on cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth 

Claude’s Confession. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana,” "L’Assommoir,” "Poi^ 
Bouille,” “ The Girl in Scarlet y etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. Black and Gold, 

Pot-Bouille ; or. Piping^ Hot. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana,” " L’ Assommoir y etc. 
With an Illustrated Cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Her Two Husbands. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana,” " L’ A.ssommoiry '*Pot- 
Bouille,” "The Girl in Scarlet,” etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

H^lftne. A Tale of Love and Passion. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana ” and "L’Assom^ 
Hoir,” With a Picture of"Hellne” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $x.2S in Cloth. 

Albine ; or. The Abbe’s Temptation. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana ” and " L'As^ 
eommoir.” With a Picture of "Albine^’ on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

magrdalen Ferat. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana.” With a Picture of "Magdalen 
Ferat” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Th^r^se Raqnin. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana.” With a Portrait of "Emile Zola’* 
on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Nana’s Bang^hter. A Continuation of and Sequel to Emile Zola’s Great Realistic Novel of 
"Nana.** Price 75 cents in paper cover, or ;^i.oo in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Petersons* American Translations of Emile Zola’s works are for sale by all Booksellers and 
at all News Stands everywhere , or copies of any one book, or more of them, will be sent to any one, 
to any place, at once, postpaid, on remitting the Price of the ones wanted in a letter to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSOX & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 



THE 


LAST OF THE MILITARY GRAND MASTERS OF THE 
ORDER OF TEMPLAR KNIGHTS. 

BY BBIMEUIVO FX.^C3^C3-, 

OP VIRGINIA, A TEMPLAR KNIGHT, AND AUTHOR OF "THE PRIMS MINISTER," ‘‘tHE BRIGAND,** 
"the martyr-student,” "MARION DELORME," " LUCY ASHLIN," "THE FAR WEST," 
“the HOWARD QUEEN," " THE NORTH-WEST," " SKETCHES OF A TRAVELLER," 

"THE DUCHESS OF FERARA," "VENICE: THE CITY OF THE SEA," 

"BEATRICE OF PADUA,*' "GABRIELLE DE VERGI," ETC. 


Molai : the Last of the Mllita7y Grand Masters of the Order of Templar 
Knights f is a poiverfuf pictm'esqne and absorbing novel of the Fourteenth Century^ 
historical in character and croiv led with information conveyed in the most pleasing 
manner. The scene is laid principally in Faris, and the the7ne is the suppressio7t 
of the Order of Knights Te77iplar by Philip the Fou7'th of Fraitce. Throughout the 
i’om i7tce toivers the coi7i’7ia7idi7i'e^ for}7t of facques de Molai, the 7toble old wa7'rior^ 
mo/ik, 7oho 7oas 7'eady to bear the to7'tures of the Inquisition, a7td even to suffer mar^ 
ty7'do77i at the stake, for the cause of the persecuted 07'der of which he was the chief 
A complete histo7y of the Kni rhts Te77it)lar is giveit, ivhich will be fotmd of great 
value and i7iterest by the Masonic F7\iternity as 7uell as by the gene7’al reader. The 
descriptions of old Paris a7td of the ^abbeys aftd castles of that day are vividly and 
vigorously d7'aiun. The loves of Blanche of Ai'tois and Adria7t de Marigni are set 
forth in gloiving style, and the 7tar7'ative of the disappointed affectio7ts of siveet Mai ie 
jMojfontaine is replete with tender pathos. Blanche's share in the persecution of tht 
Knights Templar and her untiring efforts to procure 7'evenge against the Order form 
an hnportant element of the novel, and add effectiveness to the strong plot^ The 
compact bePcveen Philip the Foindh and Bei'ti'and de G>^th in the Abbey of St. fcan 
d' A nglly during the thundei'storm is a highly dramatic incident, as is also Marie 
Moifontai7te's discovery of Adrian's t7'eachery, while the scene i7i Notre Dame in 
ivhich the Grand Master figu7'es so conspicuously is intensely exciting. The political 
intrigues of the king and the Roman Pontiff claim a laige share of attentio7t, as also 
do the Jlii tations of the ladies of the French cou7d with the noble gallants of the pe 7 dod, 
who wei'e as ardent in love as they we7'e brave in war. I'he fate of Blanche of 
Artois is to some extent a compensation for her evil deeds, and the final dknouefneftt 
of the ro77iance is a happy 07te. **De Molai" is undoubtedly destined to beco7ne a 
sta7tdard 20 ork of permane7it popularity It will be read with vast interest and e7ijoy- 
ment by all Te/7iplar Knights, the whole Masoitic Fraternity, scholars and the public. 


Paper Cover, 75 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.50. 


*^De Molai: the Last of the Milita7y Gra}td Masters of the Order of Te77iplar 
K7iights," is issued tn a large duodeci7no volu77ie, and will be found for sale by all 
Booktelle7's and by all Neius Agents eve7y7uhere. 

Canvassers wanted in eve7y Lodge to canvass a7id get subscribers to it. 

Copies will be sent to any 07te, to any place, on I'emitting pi'ice to the publishe7-s, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


Emile Zola’s Healistic Books. 


*'Nana” and " V Assommoir ” as well as the whole of “ The Rougon-Maquart Series " now being 
written by the great master, Emile Zola, are the greatest as well as the most powerful and wonderful 
novels ever written. They have created a sensation everywhere, as the literary event of the century, 
over six hundred thousand copes of "Nana,” and ” L’ Assommoir” having been sold in Paris alone. 
Zola is literally true to life in his powerful delineations. His books are immortal because they are true. 


MST OF FMII.E ZOLA’S GREAT BOOKS 

Petersons’ Translations in English for American Readers. 

I.a Torre. i^Tke Soil.') By Emile Zola, author of “Nana.” This last book by Zola is creating 
a sensation in Paris perfectly astounding. It is no more “natural” than some of the old fables, 
for of course there is a good deal of lovemaking at the vinta^ harvest, and in it Emile Zola, the 
author, has portrayed the French peasant as he has seen him. Paper, 75 cents; Cloth, j$i.25. 

IVasia! The Sequel to “ L’ Assommoir.” Nana! By Evtile Zola. With a Picture 0/ 

Nana” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

T/ Asiitoiiiiiioir ; or, Nana’s Mother. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana.” With a 
Picture of“Gervaise,” Nana's mother, on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper, or One Dollar in Cloth. 

t'liristino, the Model; or Studies of liOve. By Emile Zola, author oi“Nana'* 
mnd “ L' Assommoir .” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or ^1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The Shop Oirls of Paris, with their Life and Experiences in a Large Dry Goods Store. 
By Emile Zola, author oi“ Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

The Flower Oirls of Marseilles. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana,” “V Assam- 
vioir,” “ The Girl in Scarlet,” etc. Paper cover 73 cents, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The Mysteries of the t’onrt of L<ouis Napoleon. By Emile Zola, author of 
**Nana” atid“ L' Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or ^1.23 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The Flower and Market Oirls of Paris. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana'* 

and “ L' Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, pr $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Ren^e ; or. In the Whirlpool. By Emile Zola. With a Portrait of Renee on the cover. 
Zola’s New Play of “Renee” was dramatized from this book. Paper, 73 cents ; Cloth, $1.25. 

Nana’s Brother. The Son of “Gervaise” and “Lantier” of “ L’ Assommoir.” By 
Emile Zola, author of “Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The Oirl in Scarlet; or. The Lioves of Silyere and Miette. By Emile Zola, 
author oi“ Nana ” a 7 ui “ L' Asso 7 m?ioir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or J^i.25 in Cloth. 

A Mad Fove; or. The Ahhe and His Court. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana** 

and “ L’ Assotntnoir.” Price 73 cents in paper cover, or ^1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The .Toys of Idfe; or. How Jolly Fife Is. By Emile Z?/*, author of “Nana,** 
“ L' Assotttmoir.” With an Illustration on cover. Price 73 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

t’lande’s Confession. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana,” “ L' Assommoir ,” “Pot- 
Bouille,” “ 'Ihe Girl in Scarlet f etc. Price 73 cents in paper cover, or ;Ji.25 in cloth. Black and Gold. 

Pot-Boiiille; or. Piping’ Hot. By Emile Zola, 2eat]\or oi “ Nafta,” “ L' Assotttmoir ,” etc. 
With an Illustrated Cover. Price 73 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Her Two Hushands. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana,” “ L' Assommoir “Pot- 
Bouille,” “ The Girl in Scarlet f etc. Price 73 cents in paper cover, or in Cloth. 

H<^lftne. A Tale of Love and Passion. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana” and “ L* Assom- 
moir.” With a Picture of “Hellne” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or ^^1.25 in Cloth. 

Alhine ; or. The Abbe’s Temptation. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana ” and “U As- 
sommoir.” With a Picture of “Alhine*’ on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

Magdalen Ferat. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana.” With a Picture of “Magdalen 
Ferat” on the cover. Price 73 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Th^rftse Baqiiin. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana.” With a Portrait of “Emile Zola'* 
on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Nana’S Baughtcr. A Continuation of and Sequel to Emile Zola's Great Realistic Novel of 
“Nana.” Price 73 cents in paper cover, or $1.00 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Petersons’ American Translations of Emile Zola's works are for sale hy all Booksellers and 
at all News Stands everywhere , or copies of any one book, or more of them, will be sent to any one, 
to any place, at once, post-paid, on remitting the price of the ones wanted in a letter to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Phila(tcli>hia, Pa. 


Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth’s Last and Best Book. 


SELF-MADE; 

OR, 

OUT OP THE DEPTHS. 

BY MRS. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH. 

IS NOW COMPLETE IN BOOK FORM, IN TWO VOLUMES. 

Price $1.50 each, or $3.00 a Set. 

It is also issued in Two Volumes, under the names of 

ISHMAEL! AND SELF-RAISED! 

Price $1.50 each, or $3.00 for the Two Books 


3IBS. E3IMA i>. E. N. SOUTHWORTIPS C03IPLETE 

WORKS. An entire new edition has just been published^ in duodecimo form^ 
printed on fine paper^ complete ni forty-three volumes^ by T. B. Peterson ^ Brothers^ 
Philadelphia. They are bound in morocco cloth^ library style, ivith a full gilt back, and 
sold by all Booksellers, everytvhere, at the low price of each or for a com- 

plete set. Send for a cofnplete list of them, which will be sent jree on application. 

This edition contains a new Portrait of Airs. Soutlnvorth, and her Autograph, also 
a view of her beautiful Home on the banks of the Potomac, both engraved on steel. 

Mrs. Southworthl s books have great originality, fine descriptions, startling incidents^ 
scenes of pathos, are of pure moi'al tone, and shotdd be read by everybody. 

Airs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth is acknowledged to be the greatest of all American 
female writers, and a set of her books should be in every home and in every library. 

Copies of any one work, or more, or a set of **Mrs. Southworth' s Complete 
Works," bound in morocco cloth, will be sent to any one, to any address, at once, free 
of freight or postage, on remitting ^^ 1.50 for each one wanted, to the Publishers^ 
T. B. Peterson Brothers, 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 

^^l^Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth' s books will be found for sale by all Booksellers 
and News Agents everywhere. Canvassers wanted everywhere to engage in their sale. 

Booksellers, News Agents and Canvassers will be supplied at very low rates, and 
they will please send in their orders at once to the publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa., 

and they will receive immediate and projiipt attention. 


Smiua O. E. N. Sonthwo rtli's Complete 'Works. 


Mrs. SOUTHWORTH’S WORKS 

COMPLETE IN FORTY-THREE VOLUMES. 
lACH IS IN ONE LARGE DUOD ECIMO V0LU31E, CLOTH, GILT, AT $1.50 EACH, OR $(>4.50 A SET. 
Copies of^any one or al! <7-11 be sent to any one, pos^paid, on receipt of remittances. 


Mrs. Souikworth*s ivorks have become very popular^ and they have great n.erits as fiction .fior she 
has written many good novels for the fireside, and furnished an amazing fund of pure and healthy 
entertainment to thousands of readers that have been, and to many thousands more to come. 'J he 
great secret of her hold upon her readers is, after her inventive genius , in framing the plots of her 
stories, and in the brisk and 7vide-aw(ike manner in which all the details are executed. There is no 
time for listlessness, every movemeni is animated : and she is noi only a popular and entertaining 
author, but a moral one, as she inculcates propriety , both by precept and by the example of her 
characters , 7vhdch are calculated to do good to all readers. Her works should be read by all, for 
there is not a dull line in any of them, and they are full of thrilling and startling interest. Her 
characters are drawn with a strong hand, and actually appear to live and move before tis. Prob- 
ably no writer, man or 7voman, in America, is as popular, or has so wide a circle of readers as has 
Mrs. Southxvorth. Her stories art ahvays full of thrilling interest to lovers of the sensational , 
and for literary merit they rank fa r above the 7vorks of any author or authoress of 7 vorks of their 
class. Airs. South'oort.V s stories kai’e won their high place by her ability , and anything 7vith which 
ktr name is identifie d is certain to meet with hearty approval. The follo7ving are their names, 

LIST OF MRS. SOUTHWORTH’S WORKS. 


Ishmael ; or, la tte Depths. Being “ Self-Made.” 
Self-Raised ; or, I Tom the Depths. Sequel to “ Ishmael.” 
The Fortune Seeker. The Fatal Marriage. 

The Lost Heiress. The Deserted Wife. 


Tried for Her Life. 

Cruel as the Grave. 

The Maiden Widow. 

The Family Doom, 

The Bride s Fate, 

The Changed Brides. 

Fair Play. 

How He Won Her. 

Victor’s Triumph. 

A Beautiful Fiend. 

The Spectre Lover. 

The Prince of Darkness. 
The Christmas Guest. 
Fallen Pride. 

The Widow s Son. 

The Bride of Llewellyn. 

The Fatal Secret. 

The Bridal Eve. 

India ; Pearl of Pearl River. 


Love’s Labor Won. 

A Noble Lord. 

The Lost Heir of Linluhgow. 
The Artist’s Love. 

The Gipsy s Prophecy. 

The Three Beauties. 

Vivia ; or, the Secret of Power* 
The Two Sisters. 

The Missing Bride. 

The Wife s Victory. 

The Mother-in-Law. 

The Haunted Homestead. 

The Lady of the Isle. 

Allworth Abbey. 

Retribution. 

The Curse of Clifton. 

The Discarded Daughter. 

The Mystery of Dark Hollow* 
The Phantom Wedding. 


Copies of any one work, or more, or a complete set of **Mrs. SouthwortK' s 
Works f will be sent to any one, to any address, at once, free of freight or postage, on 
^'emitting i?5l.5o for each one wanted, to T. B. Peterson Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa, 


Address all orders and remittances to the Publishers, 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


FASHIONABLE LIFE IN WASHINGTON, SARATOGA AND BAB HARBOR. 


Society Eapids. 

A. 

•j Snappy, Breezy Novel of Fashionable Life in Washington, Saratoga and Bar 
Harbor, with its Temptations and Excesses. Spicy and Witty. The 
whole being handled in the most Lively and Skillful Manner. 

BY “ONE IN THE SWIM.” 


** Society Rapids ” is one of those bright and clever romances which occasiortalh/ dm \ 
like meteors along the path of staid and sober fiction. It is lights volatile and breezy ^ 
with about as much spice as can be crowded between two covers without treuchiug on 
dangerous ground^ for in the entire compass of the exceedingly readable hook there is 
not a single point at v)hich the most confirmed j)rude can carp. The subject is a fruit- 
ful one— fashionable life in Washington^ with its temptations^ its excesses, and its re- 
deeming qualities — and it is handled in the liveliest aiid most skillful fashion. Not a 
phase of character current in the cosmopolitan society of the nation^ s capital as found 
in the ball-room or at the public reception is missed by the keen-sighted writer^ whose 
barbed shafts of cutting satire shoot right and left with telling effect. The weakness of 
venerable senators for married ladies^ whose husbands keep their eyes convemently 
closed^ the reckless flirtations of maidens tvho talk the slang of the day with amazing 
fluency, the incessant chase after rich husbands, the gayeties of the gilded, youth, and 
the endless gossip, tattle and venomous backbiting of almost everybody are depicted 
with a truthfulness that cannot be questioned, and, at the same time, in a way that is 
at once good-humored and slashing. Washington in mid-season is unrolled like a 
panorama, and the summer emsodes at Saratoga and Bar Harbor are the most natu- 
ral reproductions possible. The plot of the novel is excellent, the interest is constantly 
maintained, and the dialogue is invariably snappy, often brilliant and occasionally 
quite witty. The heroine is Eveline Mason, who, waking to the fact that she has not 
attracted attention because too goody-goody, endeavors to repair her error by a bold 
plunge into the sea of flirtation with a gay and wealthy favorite of society, named 
Victor Von Vroom. Her feet for awhile tread uncertain and perilous paths, but by 
dint of sound sense and the promptings of her better nature she eventually gets on saje 
ground, and is rescued from further equivocal social experiments by jailing in love 
with Hon. Harmon Livingstone, a member of Congress who has held himself aloof from 
cormpting influences. There is an adventure in a fierce squall off Bar Harbor, which 
is quite thr illing, and a number of play ful and coquett ish love scenes will be duly ap^ 
predated, while a touch of sentiment will be found in the crushed Von Vroom^s souve- 
nir. Society Rapids will be read line for line with infinite relish. It is a book that 
everybody will want. 

One Volume, Square l2mo. Paper Cover. Price 50 Cents. 

** Society Rapids will be found for sale by all Booksellers and at all Newt 
Stands everywhere, or copies of it will be sent to any one, to any place, at once, post- 
paid, on remitting the price to the publishers, 

T. B. PETERSOJST & BROTHERS, Pliiladelphia, Pa. 



OlilHWORTH’S WORKS. 


BACl liyiN 0!CE LAPiGE bUODECDIO VCUME, MOROCCO CI.OTH, OrLT BACK, PRICE $1.50 EAtd 
('Dpies of ‘Jil or any xvoll be sent posf-psid, to any place, on receipt ov remittacces. 


ISHMAEl; o^ IN THE DEPTHS. (Being “Self-Made; or, Out of Depths."' 
SELF-MiSED; or, From the Deoths. The Sequel to “ Ishmael.” 

THE PHANTOM WEDDING; or. The Fail of the House of FIJnt. 

THE “MOTKER-IN-LAW;” or, MARRIED IN HASTE. ! 

THE MiSSING BRIDE; or, MIRIAM, THE AVENGER. 

VIC TOR’S TRIUMPH. The Sequel to “A Beautiful FisiMJ." 

A {lEAUTIFUL F.END; or, THROUGH THE FIRE. 

THE LADY OF THE ISLE; or, THE ISLAND PRINCESS. 

FAIR PLAY; or, BRITOIWARTE, THE MAN-HATER. 

HOW HE WON HER. The Sequel to “fair May.” 

THE CHANGED BRIDES: or, Winning Her V' ay. 

THE BRIDE’S FATE, the Sequel to “ 1 he Changed Brides." 
CRUEL AS I HE GRAVE; or, Hallow Eve Mystery. 

TRIED FOR HER LIFE. The Sequel to “ Cruei as the Grave.’* 

THE CHRISTMAS GUEST; or. The Crime and the Curse. 

THE LOST HEIR OF LINLITHGOW ; or, The Brothers. 

A NOBLE LORD. The Sequel to “The Lost Heir ot Linlithgow." 
THE FAMILY DOOM; or, THE SiN OF A COUNTESS. 

THE MAIDEN WIDOW. The Sequel to “The Family Dwom.'* 


THE GIPSY’S PROPHECY; or. The Bride of an Evening. 

THE FORTUNE SEEKER; or, Astrea, The Bridal Day. 

THE THREE BEAUTIES; or, SHANNONDALE. 

FALLEN PRIDE; or, THE MOUNTAIN GIRL’S LOVE. 

THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER; or, The Children ofthelalw. 

THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS; or, HICKORY HALL. 

THE TWO SISTERS; or, Virginia and Magdalene. 

THE FATAL MARRIAGE - or, ORVILLE DEVILLE. 

INDIA; or, THF PEARL OF PEARL RIVER. THE CURSE OF CLIFTON 
THE WIDOW’S SON; or, LEFT ALONE. 

THE MYSTERY OF DARK HOLLOW. 

ALLWORTH ABBEY; or, EUDORA. 

THE BRIDAL EVE; or, ROSE ELMER. 

VIVJA; or, THE SECRET OF POWER. 

THE HAUNTED HOMESTEAD. 


DRIDE OF LLEWELLYN. 


THE WIFE’S VICTORY. 
THE SPECTRE LOVER. 

THE ARTiSrS LOVE, 
the fatal SECRET. 

LOVE’S LABOR WON, • 
THE LOST HEIRESS. 


THE DESERT! D WIFE. RETRlBUnoS 


Mrs. Southworth^s works will be found for sale by all first-class Booksellers. 
.3*“ Copies of any one, or more of Mrs. Southworth' s works, will be sent to any plac^ 
at oTice^ per mail, post-paid, on remitting price of the ones wanted to the ± voolisher s, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, PhiladeUWiia, P* 


By author of “Nana” and “ L’Assommoir.’* 



“CHRISTINE, THE MODEL; OK. S lUDIOS IN PARIS,” “THE GIRL IN SCARLET,” “ LA TERRE," 

“Claude's confession,” “therese raquin,” “her two husbands,” “albinb,” 

“ NANa’s brother,” “MAGDALEN FERAT,” “COURT OF LOUIS NAPOLEON,” 
“the joys OF LIFE,” “A MAD LOVE; OR, THE ABBE AND HIS COURT,” 
“RENEE; or. in THE WHIRLPOOL,” “FLOWER GIRLS OF MARSEILLES,” 

“the FLOWER AND MARKET GIRLS OF PARIS,” ETC., ETC. 

TEANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY GEORGE D. COX. 


'*‘The Jolly Paris{en7tes,'' the latest production of the gi'eatest living Fre^ich 72ovelist, 
£?nile Zola, is a romance of decided intei'est, niarked power and unusual spi'ightliness. 
It deals mainly with a ^'■grande passion ” conceived under a rather peculiar misappre 
hension, a7id the ecce7tt7'icities of Parisian society are depicted in a veiit of lively , good- 
natured satire. Political scheffiing has much to ao with the ingeniotis and excelle7i\ 
plot, but is not brought out so pro77iine7'itly as to be obtrusive. Louise Neigeo7t and 
Berthe Gaucheraud are laaies such as 07ily the gay F7'ench capital ca7i p7'oduce. They 
have all the refine77ie7tt of luxury and educatio7i added to extreme vivacity and jollity 
closely app7'oaching 7'ecklessness. Louise mdulges in cigarettes and Berthe talks slaftg, 
yet they are 7iever other than ladylike aiid he^vitchiiig. Bor77 firts and skilled m all 
the arts of coquetry, gifted with beauty, grace and mtelligence, they are in the highest 
degree chic a7id, at the same tiifie. as shrewd as they a>e piquant. George de Vauge- 
lade, a warm-blooded youth fresh from country life ifi Leaver Normaiidy, comes to 
Paris a7id is amazed at the freaks of fashionable circLs and shocked at the slanderous 
whispei's ivhich reach his ears. He meets Berthe and Louise — blonde and brtmette — 
a7td submits to their fascinations in turn. Louise, lunvever, makes the deepest itnpres^ 
sion 071 hi 771 a7id the de/ioue merit of his ‘■'•grande passion ” is as uiiexpectul as it is salu- 
tary attd mstructive Of the other chai'acters the most pro7ni7ie7it at e teiix Budi7t, a 
blast Parisia7i, and Gaucheraud, a fat politician, who has aii eye smgle to his ow7t re- 
electio7i to office. The Countess is a society lady, whose sahai is freqiumted by the elite, 
and Moeisieur Neigeoii, zvho is constantly heard of butpuever co7ucs 07i the sce77e, 
except, perhaps, hi the last chapter, is a personage who ozucs his success in politics 
to his zvife^s good se7ise a7td adroit manceuvriiig. “ The Jolly Parisiennes"' is a novel 
sure to delight all zvho read it. 1 he z)olu77ie co7itahts other 7toz'eleftes by Zola, hi zuhich 
various phases of life are set fo7‘th in the authors best, strongest and spiciest manner. 


Paper Cover, 75 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.25. 


'^^^^The Jolly Pai'isieiines'' is issued in a lai'ge duodecimo volume, in uniform 
style with ‘‘Nanaf' Assommoirf^ and all of Emile Zola's other works, all of which 
are published by T. B. Petei'son Brothers, Philadelphia, and are for sale by all 
Booksellers a7id News Agents everywhere, Copies of any one or all of Emile Zola's 

works will be se7it to any one, to aiiy place, 07i re77iitti7ig pi’ice to the publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Pliilaclelpliia, Pa. 


list of Emile Zola’s Great Works. 

Petersons’ Translations in English for American Readers. 


E. 


Za Terre. {The Soil.') Emile Zola, author of *'Nana** This last book by Zola is creating 
a sensation in Paris perfectly astounding. It is no more “natural” than some of the old fables, 
for of course there is a good deal of lovemaking at the vintage harvest, and in it Emile Zola, the 
author, has portrayed the French peasant as he has seen him. Paper, 75 cents; Cloth, $1.25. 

Nana! The Sequel to “ L'Assommoir.” Nana! By Emile Zola. With a Picture oj 
**Nana” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The Flower and Market Girin of Paris. By Emile Zola, author of *‘Nana” 
and L* AssommoirP Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.2$ in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

li’Assoinmoir; or, Nasia’s Mother. By Emile Zola, author of *‘Nana." With a 
Picture o/*‘ Gerz>aise,'* Nana's mother, on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper, or One Dollar in Cloth, 

The Flower Girls of Marseilles. By Emile Zola, author of **Nana," ** L' Assom- 
tnoir'* **The Girl in Scarlet ” etc. Paper cover, 75 cents, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Christine, the Model; or Studies of Ij€>ve. By Emile Zola, author of Nana’* 
and** L’ AssommoirP Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The 8ho]> Girls of Paris, with their Life and Experiences in a Large Dry Goods Store, 
By Emile Zola, author of** Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

The Mysteries of the Court of Louis Napoleon. By Emile Zola, author of 
**Nana” and ** L'Assommoir.'* Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Reil^e; or. In the Whirlpool. By Emile Zola. With a Portrait of Renee on the cover. 
Zola's New Play of “Renee” was dramatized from this book. Paper, 75 cents ; Cloth, $1.25. 

Nana’s Brother. The Son of “Gervaise” and “Lantier” of ** L'Assommoir. ” By 
Emtle Zola, author of **Nana. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The Girl in Scarlet; or. The Loves of Silvere and Miette. By Emile Zola, 
author of ** Nana ” and ** L’ Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

A Mad Love; or. The Abbe and His Court. By Emile Zola, author of **Nana** 

and ** L' Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The Joys of Life; or. How Jolly Life Is. By Emile author of **Nana** 

** L' Assommoir .” With an Illustration on cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

Claude’s Confession. By Emile Zola, author of **Nana,” ** L' Assommoir,” **Pot- 
Bouille,” ** The Girl in Scarlet,” etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or ;^i.25 in cloth. Black and Gold. 

Pot«Boirillc; or. Piping' Hot. By Emile Zola, author of ** Nana,” ** L’ Assommoir,” etc. 
With an Illustrated Cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or ;i^i.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Her Two Husbands. By Emile Zola, author of **Nana,” ** L’Assommoir,” **Pot- 
Bouille f **The Girl in Scarlet,” etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

H^ldne. A Tale of Love and Passion. By Emile author of **Nana'' and ** L’ Assom- 

moir.” With a Picture of*‘IIellne” on the ccn>er. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or ;^i.25 in Cloth. 

Albiiie ; or, 'I'he Abbe's Temptation. By Emile Zola, author of **Nana *' and ** L' As- 
sommoir.'' With a Picture 0/ **Albine” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper, or ^1.25 in Cloth. 

Magdalen Ferat. By Emile Zola, author of “Nana.” With a Picture 0/ ** Magdalen 
Ferat” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gobi. 

Th^rfcse lta<|iiiii.' By Emile Zola, author of **NanaP With a Portrait of ** Emile Zola’* 
on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Nana’s Bailghter. A Continuation of and Sequel to Emile Zola's Great Realistic Novel of 
**Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or ;^i.oo in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Petersons’ American Translations of Emile Zola’s zuorks are for sale by all Booksellers and 
at all Nezus Stands ez^erywhere , or copies of any one book, or more of them, xvill be sent to any one, 
to any place, at once, post-paid, on remitting the price of the ones wanted in a letter to the Publishers, 

T. B. PBTEKSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 




By author of “Nana” and “L’Assommoir.” 


THE JOLLY PARISIENNES 


LIST OF EMILE ZOLA’S GREAT BOOKS. 

Petersons’ Translations in English for American Readers. 

Jolly PariMieiiiies. By Emile Zola, author oi**Nana " and'* V Assommoir** Zola's 
Last Book. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or ;i$i.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold, 

Nana! The Sequel to “ L'Assommoir." Nana! By Emile Zola. With a Picture 
**Nana " on the cover. Paper cover, 75 cents ; Cloth, ^t.oo. Cheap edition, paper cover, 25 cents. 

laa Terre. ( The Soil.) By Emile Zola, author of **Nana." This new book by Zola is creating 
a great sensation. Paper cover, 75 cents; Cloth, $1.25. Cheap edition, paper cover, 2^ cents. 

I/Assoininoir ; or, Nana'M Mother, By Emile Zola. With a Picture of Nana's 
mother on the cover. Paper cover, 75 cents ; Cloth, $1.00. Cheap edition, paper cover, 23 cents. 

Nana’s l>aii$;'lifer. A Continuation of and Sequel to Emile Zola’s Great Realistic Novel of 
**Nana." Paper cover, 75 cents ; Cloth, $1.00. Cheap edition, paper cover, 23 cents. 

The Flower and Market Oirls of Farits. By Emile Zola, author of **Nana** 

and ** L'Assommoir." Price 75 cents in paper cover, or ^1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The Flower Girls of Marseillom. By Emile Zola, author oV'Nana," ** L’ Assommoir,** 
**The Girl in Scarlet," etc. Paper cover, 75 cents, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Christine, the Model; or Stiidie.s of Fove. By Emile Zola, author oi ** Nana'* 
and ** L’ Assommoir Price 75 cents in paper cover, or 51-25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The 8ho|> Girla of PariM, with their Life and Experiences in a Large Dry Goods Store, 
By Emile Zola, author of "Nana." Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

The Mysteries of the t'onrt of FoiiiN Napoleon. By Emile Zola, author of 
**Nana" and** L’ Assommoir Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Ren<^e : or. In the Whirlpool. By Emile Zola. With a Portrait 0/ Renee on the cover. 
Zola’s New Play of ‘‘Renee” was dramatized from this book. Paper, 75 cents; Cloth, 

Nnna’$li Rrother. The Son of “ Gervaise ” and “Lantier” of L’Assommoir.” By 
Emile Zola, author of ** Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

'rhe Girl in Scarlet; or, ’riie Foves of Silvere and Miette. By Emile Zola, 
author of ** Nana" and ‘ * L' Assommoir." Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

A Mad Fo%’e; or, 'I’he Ahhe and His Court. By Emile Zola, author of **Nana** 

and ** L’ Assommoir ." Price 75 cents in paper cover, or 51-25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The Joys of Fife. By Emile Zola, author of **Nana'' and ** L' Assommoir With an 
Illustration on cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or 51-25 in Cloth. 

Claufle’s Confession. By Emile Zola, author of **Nana," ** V Assommoir ," **Pot~ 
Bouille," ** The Girl in Scarlet,” etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Pot-Roilille. By Emile Zola, author of ** Nana,” ** L' Assommoir f etc. With an Illustrated 
Cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Her Two Husbands. By Emile Zola, author of **Nana,'' **L' Assommoir,” **Pot- 
Bouille,” **The Girl in Scarlet f etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or 51-25 in Cloth. 

H^l^ne. A Tale of Love and Passion. By Emile Zola, author of **Nana'' and ** L' Assom- 
moir.'' With a Picture 0/ ** Hellne” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or 51-25 in Cloth. 

Albiiie ; or. The Abbe's Temptation. By Emile Zola, author of ‘‘Ah«a” and ** L'As- 
sommoir.'' With a Picture of**Alhine ” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper, or 51-25 in Cloth. 

Ma;S'dalen Ferat. By Emile Zola, author of **Nana.” With a Picture of" Magdalen 
Ferat” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Th<‘r^se Itaqnin. By Emile Zola, author of **Nana.” With a Portrait of ** Emile Zola ” 
on the confer. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Petersons' American Translations of Emile Zola' s works are for sale by all Booksellers and 
at all Nezus Stands everywhere , or copies of any one book, or more of them, will be sent to any one, 
to any plcsce, at once, post-paid, on remitting the price of the ones wanted in a letter to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, PUiladelphia, Pa. 


Emile Zola’s Greatest Works. 


NANA AND L'ASSOUMOm. 


LIST OF EMILE ZOLA’S GREAT BOOKS. 

Petersons’ Translations in English for American Readers. 

I.a Torre. {The Soil.) By Emile Zola, author of *‘Nana.” This last book by Zola is creating 
a sensation in Paris perfectly astounding. It is no more “ natural ” than some of the old fables, 
for of course there is a good deal of lovemaking at the vintage harvest, and in it Emile Zola, the 
luthor, has portrayed the French peasant as he has .seen him. Paper, 75 cents; Cloth. $1.25. 

Xaiia! The Sequel to “ L’Assommoir.” Nana! By Emile Zola. With a Picture of 
Nana" on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

l/.4!«MOiiiiiioir ; or, Naiia^M Motlior. By Emile Zola, author of **Nana." With a 
Picture of" Ger^raise” Nana's mother, on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper, or One Dollar in Cloth, 

<’liristiiie, the Model; or Studies of Love. By Emile Zola, author oi^'Nana" 
un/l "L’Assommoir." Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The Shop Oirls of Paris, with their Life and Experiences in a Large Dry Goods Store. 
By Emile Zola, author oi" Nana." Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

The Flower Girls of Marseilles. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana,” "L'Assom- 
moir,” " The Girl in Scarlet,” etc. Paper cover, 75 cents, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The Mysteries of the Court of Louis Napoleou. By Emile Zola, author of 
"Nana ” and" L' Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The Flow'er and Market Girls of Paris. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana” 
and "L’Assommoir." Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Keii<’‘e; or, Iii the Whirlpool. By Emile Zola. With a Portrait 0/ Renee on the cover . 
Zola’s New Play of “Renee” was dramatized from this book. Paper, 75 cents ; Cloth, $1.25, 

Nana’s Brother. The Son of “Gervaise” and “Lantier” of ** L’Assommoir.” By 
Emile Zola, author of "Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Tlie Girl in Scarlet; or. The Loves of Silvere and Miette. By Emile Zola, 
author of "Nana ” and " L’ Assommoir .” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

A Mad Love; or. The Ahhe anil llis Court. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana' 
aytd " L’ Assommoir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Tlie Joys of Life; or. How Jolly Life Is. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana,” 
" L’ Assommoir.” With an Illustration on cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

Claude's Confession. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana,” " L' Assommoir,” " Pot- 
Bouille,” " 'I he Girl in Scarlet,” etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. Black and Gold. 

Pot-Bi»uille ; or, Pipiiiijj;' Hot. By Emile Zola, author of " Nana,” " L’ Assommoir ,” etc. 
With an Illustrated Cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Her Two Husbands. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana,” " L’ Assommoir ,” " Pot- 
Bouille,” " The Girl in Scarlet f etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or ^1.25 in Cloth. 

IK^jene. A Tale of Love and Passion. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana” and "L'Assom- 
noir.” With a Picture of" Hellne” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.2^ in Cloth. 

Albine; or. The Abbe’s Temptation. By Emile Zola, awCoor of " Nana” and" L’ As- 
sommoir.” With a Picture 0/ "Albine^’ on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

Maifilalen Ferat. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana.” With a Picture of "Magdalen 
Ferat” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Tli^rese Raqiiin. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana.” With a Portrait of "Emile Zola " 
on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Nana’s Daus:hter. A Continuation of and Sequel to Emile Zola's Great Realistic Novel of 
"Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.00 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

j tffp Petersons' American Translations of Emile Zola’s works are for sale by all Booksellers and 
y^at all Ne 7 vs Stands every^vhere , or copies of any one book, or more of them, will be sent to any one, 
to any place, at once, post-paid, on remitting the price of the ones wanted in a letter to the Publishers 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelpliia, Pa. 


By author of “Nana” and “ L’Assommoir.” 



AUTHOR OF *'NANA," “ l’aSSOMMOIR,” SHOP-GIRLS OF PARIS,” “ HELENE,” ” POT-BOUILLE,” 
‘‘CHRISTINE, THE MODEL; OR, STUDIOS IN PARIS,” ‘‘THE GIRL IN SCARLET,” “ LA TERRE,” 

‘‘Claude’s confession,” “thekese raquin,” ‘‘her two husbands,” “albine,” 

‘‘ NANA’s brother,” “MAGDALEN FERAT,” “COURT OF LOUIS NAPOLEON,” 

“the joys of life,” “a mad love; or, the ABBE AND HIS COURT,” 

“ RENEE ; OR, IN THE WHIRLPOOL,” “FLOWER GIRLS OF MARSEILLES,” 

“THE FLOWER AND MARKET GIRLS OF PARIS,” ETC., ETC. 

TRANSLATED PROM THE PRENOH BY GEORGE D. OOX. 


^'‘The Jolly Parisiennes^'* the latest production of the greatest living F7'ench novelist, 
Jk^nile Zola, is a rontance of decided interest, marked powei' and unusual sprightliness. 
It deals mamly with a ^'^grande passion ” conceived under a rather peculiar misappre^ 
hension, and the eccentricities of Parisian society are depicted in a vein of lively, good- 
natui'ed satire. Political scheming has much to do with the ingenious and excellent 
plot, but is not brought out so pro77iinently as to be obtrusive. Louise Neigeon and 
Berthe Gaucheraud are ladies such as only the gay French capital can produce. They 
have all the 7'efinement of luxury and education added to ext7 et7te vivacity and jollity 
closely approaching recklessness. Louise indulges in cigarettes and Berthe tatks slaftg, 
yet they are never other than ladylik^ and bezvitching. Bo7'n flirts and skilled in all 
the arts of coquetry, gifted zvith beauty, grace and intelligefice, they a7'e in the highest 
degree chic and, at the same time, as shrewd as they are piquant. George de Vauge- 
lade, a wa7'77i- blooded youth fresh from cou7ttry life m Lower Nor7na7idy, comes to 
Paris and is affiazed at the freaks of fashionable circles and shocked at the slanderous 
whispe7‘s which reach his ea7's. He meets Berthe and Louise — blotide ind bru7iette — 
and sub77iits to their fascinations in turn. Louise, hozvever, makes the deepest i77ipre»^ 
sion on hwi and the denoue77tent of his grande passion ” is as unexpected as it is salu- 
tary a7id instructive. Of the other characters the tfiost prominent are FHix Budin, a 
blasS Parisian, a7td Gaucheraud, a fat politician, who has an eye single to his own re- 
electioft to office. The Countess is a society lady, whose salon is f requented by the Hite, 
and Mo7tsieur Neigeoot, who is constantly heard of but never cotnes on the scene, 
except, perhaps, in the last chapter, is a persoftage who owes his success m politics 
to his zvife's good se7ise and adroit manoeuvring. “ The Jolly Parisiennes'^ is a novel 
sure to delight all who read it. The volume contains other novelettes by Zola, in which 
various phases of life are set forth in the autho7''s best, strongest and spiciest ma7t7ter. 


Paper Cover, 75 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.25. 


1^" “ The Jolly Parisiennes ” is issued i7i a large duodecimo voluf?ie, in unifo7‘7n 
style zvith *‘^Na7iaf H Assommoirf a7td all of Efnile Zola's other zvorks, all of which 
a7'e published by T. B. Peterson dr* Brothe7's, Philadelphia, and are for sale by all 
Booksellers and Nezvs Age}its everywhere. Copies of a7iy ofie or all of Emile Zola's 

zvorks will be sent to any 07ie, to any place, 07i retnitting p7'ice to the publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 





